


Safari

by squeezenz



Category: Zoo (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Belgium Congo, Big Game Hunting, F/M, Historical AU, Steamship Voyage, Trekking, West Africa 1890
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 98,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezenz/pseuds/squeezenz
Summary: Historical Au set in West Africa, 1890. Adventure on the high seas, some island hopping, jungle trekking, romance, wild animals, perils, dangers and all the good stuff. A rip-roaring yarn featuring our favourite characters in an era of pith helmets and expeditions to deepest, darkest Congo. Primarily told from Jamie Campbell's point of view.





	1. The Inticement

Safari – Swahili for 'Journey'

1\. a journey or expedition, for hunting, exploration, or investigation, especially in Africa.  
2\. the hunters, guides, transportation, equipment, etc., forming such an expedition.   
3\. any long or adventurous journey or expedition. 

Chapter One – The Enticement

The Reiden Estate, Lincolnshire, 1890.

“The mail has arrived, sir.”  
Dr. Morgan lifted his head from scrutinizing a particularly detailed illustration, to acknowledge the man standing beside the desk, a silver tray in his hand holding a number of items.  
“Thank you, Bolton. Just leave them on the desk, I'll get to them shortly.”  
“As you wish, sir.” The butler did as requested and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The morning was well advanced, sunlight making its hesitant way past the draped curtains duty bound to prevent strong light causing any deterioration of the books stacked on orderly shelves all around him. The room was huge, a rolling ladder needed to access several of the upper shelves, a landing running around, halfway up the wall, to allow full access to the topmost shelves. On the floor the furniture was dark and heavy, large tables allowing for maps and documents to be rolled out and examined, one specifically just for maps having an ingenious system to prevent them springing back into a curl but also preserving their sometimes fragile nature from age.   
When he wasn't needed for his veterinary services, he was to be found fossicking among the tomes, expanding his knowledge of the world both large and small, allowed free reign to inspect and enjoy the wide range of scientific volumes the library was famous for.   
He had long overstayed his original invitation, arriving several months back at the bequest of the current owner, to join a house party of scientific intellectuals gathered to discuss, in comfort and at length, the latest discoveries from around the world, as documented on a regular basis by the Geographical Society in their monthly pamphlet.   
He had met Lord Reiden at one of the London meetings of the Society, their discussion ranging over many topics, not least the man's taste in horseflesh and his need for a competent veterinary doctor to oversee his broodmares. His current head groom was getting on in years and his apprentice not far enough along in his training, so Reiden was looking for a competent man to step into the gap. Dr. Mitchell Morgan, D.V.M with a Ph.D. in clinical pathology with several years practice among domestic and exotic livestock, seemed supremely suitable for the job. That the good doctor also had an interested in the wonders of the world beyond the shores of 'ol Blighty, seemed the cherry on the top. Not only could the man talk intelligently about Reiden's beloved horses, he could also talk for hours about the latest discoveries and scientific breakthroughs reported from around the world. That he was an American seemed to be the only fault in the man, an oversight Reiden was prepared to overlook. It never occurred to Reiden that maybe the American was completely overqualified for the position, and might have an alternative reason for taking the job.   
Dr. Morgan, for all his qualification and fine degrees, was flat broke and if Reiden's offer hadn't fallen into his lap he would have been on the next ship back to the states, barely able to afford a ticket in steerage. As it was, luck was shining on him and he had a very comfortable lodging in the main house and free access to anything Lord Reiden had to offer.   
Lifting his head once more, he stared at the small heap of correspondence waiting for his attention. Reiden used him as an unofficial secretary when he wasn't needed at the stables, and Mitch was happy to do so little to repay his host's generosity. Certainly, the remuneration for his services to the horses was also generous, but Mitch often felt he was taking gross advantage of the man by doing so little for so much return. So, when the previous secretary was unfortunate enough to take a fall and break his leg, the poor man was packed off to the local sanitarium to recover and Mitch was given the job of temporary secretary, one of his jobs being to open the mail and bring what he considered important to Reiden's attention. The bills went to the estate manager to handle.   
Wielding a sharp, but elegant silver letter opener, Mitch severed the cord holding the bundle together and spread the letters, papers, and packets apart. The small parcels were set to one side. They invariably contained bits and pieces of curiosity for Reiden from his far-flung interests worldwide. Bugs, plant bulbs, eggs, and butterflies were common contents and had to be handled carefully. The papers were usually the periodicals, monthly or weekly pamphlets that Reiden subscribed to, to keep him up to date with what was happening in the world. Those were also put in their own heap to be gone through and highlighted, to be read and discussed between them later. There were several large paper envelopes, heavy in his hands. They would be the regular reports sent in from Reiden's financial and business interests in such far-flung places as Africa and Asia. They were copies sent on from his London offices, the hub of his global empire and he would give them a look over, but he had an excellent team of business managers to take care of such mundane and dry information. That left the letters. There were several, all of differing sizes and length, according to how thick or thin the envelopes were. A couple would be letters with interesting and varied ways for m'lord to be parted from his money to fund strange and unusual enterprises. They were always amusing to read, but rarely got a penny for their troubles. The fatter letters could be correspondence from family or friends around the world, or from some of his funded expeditions, of which Reiden was particularly fond of sending out on his behalf to make discoveries. Sometimes they'd have a delivery of huge crates from these same expeditions, the contents often the heads and horns of exotic and fearsome animals, all of them found space for within the walls of Reiden Hall. Where other great houses of wealthy industrialists showed off their antler collections from numerous stag hunts, here the walls were festooned with lion, rhinoceros, antelope and zebra trophies, staring down at a visitor with accusing, glassy eyes and gathering dust at a rate that kept the staff constantly busy keeping them clean. Smaller and less ostentatious trophies were also sent, the skins and hides of many unfortunate animals and reptiles were displayed behind glass in picture frames, or draped over furniture if large enough. And then there were the skeletons, packed so carefully, and unpacked just as carefully, to be wired together and suspended in corners, or stood on table tops to unsettle any visitor not already aware of Reiden's unusual passions regarding the natural world.   
For someone with Dr. Morgans quizzical and unflagging thirst for knowledge, it was a treasure trove of unending interest.   
Slitting open a letter that fell somewhere in between the opportunists and the gossipy letters of acquaintances, Mitch perused the contents, reading and re-reading the lines of flowing script to better understand the context and contents of the letter. Reiden always preferred to be told what any letter contained, often asking for them to be read out rather than just read them himself. It was a quirk, but a relatively harmless one.   
Getting to his feet, Mitch picked up the bills to be dropped off at the estate managers office, and left the library in search of his employer, the letter clutched in his hand. 

The RMS Umbria, Liverpool docks.

“De ye need ana 'elp with packen?”  
Jamie took a moment to work out what her companion was saying then shook her head. “I'm fine, thank you for asking. You done already?”  
The young lady thus addressed flounced into the tiny, shared cabin that had been home for the girls on the journey from New York for the past ten days.   
“Sure enough. Me trunk is already on ta dock, ready and waitin'.”  
Jamie turned away from her friend and continued to fold her clothes neatly and pack them into the case open on the bottom bunk. Both had been excellent sailors, more often than not found strolling on the promenade, arm in arm, taking in the bracing sea air on the second class deck, while other less seasoned travelers lay in their cabins, limp with seasickness. For both, this was their first and possibly last voyage over the ocean. Minny was to take up a position with a family she'd nanny'd for in the States, their offer of employed accepted with alacrity by the girl living in a crowded tenement in the Bronx. For Jamie, her reasons for the trip were not so clear-cut or as simple to explain. To make life easy, she explained she was going to join the staff of a prominent newspaper company who was looking for lady journalist. It was all a hum but kept at bay any awkward questions of why a young lady was traveling alone all the way to England. After it was discovered she'd be sharing a cabin with another woman, they soon made the best of the situation and became close friends, promising to write, Minny's address tucked securely in Jamie's pocket.   
The ship was tied snuggly up against the wharf and was already unloading her cargo and passengers. The second class passengers were due to disembark shortly, so she shut the lid of her tightly packed case and took a last look around the room to make sure nothing was forgotten or left behind.   
“I has to go, Jamie darling, so give us a hug an' I'll be oft on me way.” The two women embraced, holding on for several seconds before letting go.   
“You'll write, wontcha?” Minny asked, her plain, earnest face peering into her friends.  
“I'll be sure to, once I'm settled.”  
Satisfied, Minny gripped her friend's hands, then let go and darted out of the cabin with a merry wave. Jamie stared after her for a moment, then drew in a breath and gathered her luggage together. She could have called a porter to help, but there was hardly enough to worry about, so she hefted the larger of the two cases and edged out of the narrow cabin doorway into the corridor beyond. 

The gangplank stretched from the ship to the dockside, only a glimpse of black water between the hull and the pilings, the ramp rising and falling with the swell.   
“Give you a hand, miss?” a young male voice asked. Jamie turned and gratefully handed over the heavier of the two cases, freeing up a hand to grip the railing as she walked the short distance off the ship. The young man followed a few steps behind, handling the suitcase with ease. Once across, he followed her a short distance until she stopped.   
“Thank you. I can take it from here,” she told him.  
The young man put her case down, tipped his hat and gave her a smile. “As you wish. Good luck.”  
Jamie smiled back, but just as quickly turned away, searching the dock for some sort of transport. Passengers milled around everywhere, servants dashing about carrying cases and coats for their exalted employers, dock workers trundling trolleys with piles of sea chests onboard down the wooden dock towards a rank of vehicles lined up at the end. Some were private carriages, other's cabbies for hire. Gripping her cases tightly, Jamie started along the dock, following the trail of people and their luggage, the occasional hoot from one or the other of the ships against the rail blasting out, just adding to the general hubbub and shouting already deafening everyone.   
At last, she reached the line of horses and their carriages, a short walk and conversation netting her a hansom cab to take her to the Central station. From there she would take a train to London and carry on with her search.

At the Liverpool Central train station, she managed to snag a porter to help with her luggage, the man trundling along beside her as she got her ticket, then stored the cases in the baggage carriage while Jamie found her seat further along. The trip would take roughly five hours, give or take to allow for stops along the way. She had a window seat in a second-class carriage, the view quite engaging while they were within the city limits, the route through the countryside not so much. Here she nodded off, the excitement and anxiety catching up with her so that she didn't awake until the train pulled in to the station at Rugby, about halfway to London. The stop was long enough for her to get off and stretch her legs, refresh herself and get something to eat and drink, then it was back into the carriage and the final stretch to London.   
Getting out at St. Pancras, she joined the throngs milling about the station, gathering luggage, hiring trolleys and porters and heading for the exits and transport further into the city. She sat, for a moment, to gather her thoughts, and rummage in her reticule for the piece of paper bearing the address she had been recommended to apply to for accommodation. Young women traveling alone were largely still frowned upon, but she had excellent references to allay any hotels suspicions about her character, plus she was American, sometimes that alone enough to grant her a little leeway where an ordinary English girl might come up against a moral stickler and be refused due to lack of character. Jamie had buckets of character, just ask her employer back in New York. Her trip to London was to be only as long as it took her to find the man she was looking for. Once that was achieved she'd be back on a train to his location, then the small pistol tucked away in her trunk would be put to good use and her well-thought-out and executed revenge would be complete. Her beloved mother, along with the rest of her family would be able to rest in peace at long last. It was a lot to carry on such slender shoulders, but she was up to the task, she had to be. There was no one else left. Jamie Campbell was the last of her familial line.

The Reiden Estate, Lincolnshire.

Mitch ran his hand down the flank of the sweating mare, her advanced pregnancy indicating that she was due to give birth any day. The animal was shuffling her feet among the hay in the loose box, her eyes showing whites as she tossed her head.  
“Your baby is ready to be born, girl, and you know it.” He worked his way back to her head, talking soothingly, calmly. This was the mare's first foal and like any first-time mother appeared to be panicking at the prospect. “We'll get you through it, don't you fret.” His soft voice seemed to calm the animal, her eyes no longer showing their whites, her tail no longer swishing like a cat about to pounce. The head groom was standing outside the box, his arms resting on the gates, watching the American with narrowed eyes. Down the row of boxes in the stable block, the newest recruit to the staff backed his way out of the loose box, dumping a load of hay and dung into the waiting wheelbarrow. The head groom turned to watch the youngster for a moment, amazed again that so slight a figure could cope with a day's hard work and still manage to get up the next day and do it all over again. The American was talking to him and he turned away from watching the stable boy.   
“Keep a close watch on her, she's likely to drop her foal tonight, if not before.”  
“Will do, sir.” He tipped his cap at the man. Despite his unfortunate country of origin, the man knew his animals.   
Mitch went to the bucket to wash his hands after giving the mare an internal exam. Soaping up his hands and arms, he toweled them dry before rolling down his sleeves. He caught some movement further along the row and turned to watch a stable boy muck out a stall. The youth wasn't very tall and seemed slight, but he still hauled a full bucket into the stall to refill the trough. Mitch finished fastening his cuffs and put his jacket over his arm, walking down the row of stalls until he reached where the boy was working. The slight figure was bent over, shoveling dirty straw into a barrow, the neckerchief about his neck soaked with sweat, the spiky red hair dark with the same and plastered to the small head as a result of the hard work.   
“Don't you have someone to help you?” Mitch asked, leaning against the half-door. The boy froze and pulled himself upright, turning to face the man in the doorway.   
“It's a test, sir.” The voice was gruff, like a child pretending to be grown up.   
“A test?”  
“To see if I'm tough enough for the job.” The boy never lifted his eyes from contemplated the swept floor, his damp head bent so that his features were hidden.   
“And are you?” Mitch pressed.  
“Am I what, sir.”  
“Tough enough.”  
The youth shrugged his skinny shoulders. “I hope so. If I don't finish I won't get fed.”  
Mitch stared at the stalls completed so far, and the number still to be done.   
“Good luck.”  
Mitch swung away from the stable door and headed back to the head groom, talking to him for a moment before shrugging into his jacket and leaving the stable block to return to the house. Half an hour later the stableman walked up to the boy and told him to stop working and go up to the kitchen for his meal.   
“But I ain't finished,” the boy argued, looking at the number of remaining loose boxes and swallowing a groan.   
“You've done enough, lad. The rest can be done tomorra'.”  
The boy nodded, too grateful to argue further. Gathering up the tools and half filled barrow, he took them back to the tool room, emptied the barrow at the muck heap and propped it up against the wall. With leaden feet, he trudged up to the big house and entered through a side door after brushing as much mud off his boots as possible. Once inside the warm kitchen, he sat at the huge wooden dining table and waited for the cook to notice him.   
The woman slapped a bowl and plate down in front of him plus a tin mug and proceeded to fill all of them with soup, bread, and sweet tea. For the next few minutes, the boy bent to eating his fill, drinking the sweet tea to its dregs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. With the plates empty the cook shooed the boy out of her domain and told him to go up to his bed.

Exhausted, Jamie sat on the side of the bed and lifted her undershirt to start unwinding the length of cloth she used to flatten her breasts to give her the flat chest of a boy. Once rid of the fabric, she went over to the jug and ewer, dunking her whole head into the cold water, washing away the sweat that made her bright hair stick up in spikes. The day outside was drawing to a close, the room dim behind the shutters covering the windows. Taking off the rest of her clothes, she washed the rest of her body as best she could before donning her nightshirt and scrambling under the covers, wishing she had thick socks to cover her feet. She was just dozing off when the door flew open and one of the housemaids appeared, a candle in one hand, a ceramic jug in the other.   
“Missus said you would need something to keep you warm. 'Ere..” She thrust the corked bottle at Jamie, who gave the girl a gruff thank you and hugged the hot water bottle to her chest until the girl left, the thin door rattling with the force of the closure. Curling herself around the blessedly warm bottle, she composed herself to sleep again, more comfortable than before, thanks to the kindness of the cook towards what she thought was a motherless stable boy. She was only partly right.

Mitch sat down at the dining table and stared at the selection of dishes laid on for Lord Reiden and his guests. In a month's time, they'd look back at the choices and wish themselves back at this table, instead of where they'd be, sailing to Africa and living on rations, hoping to make port before the fresh food ran out. The richness of the dishes made him wonder what the stable boy had eaten for his dinner. It was unlikely to have been anything like the meal laid before him.   
After dinner, Lord Reiden held court, talk ranging from business matters to the proposed expedition, Dr. Morgan called on the support his host with facts and figures to entertain the people invited that evening, all of whom would be adding their corner of funds to send them off in style.   
The letter from a fortnight ago had light a fire under Lord Reiden, inspiring him to suggest he needed to lead an expedition into the area described and see for himself the animals and their strange, previously unheard of and undocumented behavior. Africa, by the late eighteen hundreds, was a well-traveled land, crisscrossed by well-trodden trails leading to diamonds, copper, gold and a multitude of other precious metals and jewels, little valued by the native population. According to the letter, from one of Reiden's agents in the Congo, a surveyor had staggered out of the jungle babbling about animals behaving in hitherto unseen ways, almost like humans. As the area the man had come from was still unexplored, but potentially harboring riches as yet untapped, it was suggested by the agent that Lord Reiden might like to lead an expedition, thereby claiming all rights to any discoveries and adding to his already impressive collection of profitable businesses across the continent. As it had been years since his lordship had ventured out into the untamed wilds, he thought it a splendid idea and asked Mitch to reply and get things moving on the African end, while they organized the supplied for the expedition from their end. Travel through the wilderness was best by boat or on the back of a beast, and as Reiden owned some of the finest horseflesh in England, he proposed to hire an entire steamer just for the expedition and take some of his own horses with him. Dr. Morgan was expected to accompany m'lord, along with several of the male servants, including valets for both men and staff from the stables to care for the horses on the ship, and ashore. The trip, starting from Great Yarmouth would sail through the channel, take in stops at Lisbon, the island of Madeira, all places to stock up on fuel, water, and fresh supplies. Their ultimate destination was the riverside port city of Boma on the River Congo, giving them a relatively short trek into the heart of the country to find where the surveyor had mapped. It was there they would find the hidden world the man had written about in his letter. It would be a chance for Lord Reiden to actually hunt and bag these novelties for himself before taking them home to take pride of place in his collection. They would hire men as guides and porters when they got there to supplement their own manservants, along with those to take care of the horses. The round trip was loosely expected to take the best part of a couple of months to complete, allowing for some difficulties along the way, but Lord Reiden expected to be home in time for Christmas, no later. Letters had already been sent ahead to advise those that needed to know, of m'lord's plans and expectations. When they landed, they would expect to be on the trail within a day, and reach the trophy valley not more than a month later. Mitch thought it madness to create such a narrow timeframe for what Reiden wanted to achieve, but he was too wise to argue with the man who paid his wages.   
Those that had been chosen to accompany their employer were getting a full kit of new clothing and shoes appropriate to the situation they were heading into, leaving behind the heavy wools and exchanging them for cool cotton and linens. The geographical society was keen to be a part of the whole undertaking, prepared to send a photographer to document the trip and bring back irrefutable evidence of the fantastical creature's existence. Along with the photographer came a healthy grant to put towards the expenditure likely to run into the thousands when all weighed and paid.   
A courier had brought confirmation only that morning that a ship would be put at their disposal, a steamship, the schooner Watana and preliminary loading of goods and supplies could begin as early as the following Monday. 

Jamie watched the comings and goings of the house and grumbled to herself. Her initial plan had been to get in, do the deed, then vanish in the shortest possible time, but circumstances had proved that the best-laid plans can be overturned in the blink of an eye, the house in a turmoil in preparation for some trip overseas that would see Lord Reiden gone from England for possibly months on end. She managed her masquerade as a stable boy for the past two weeks, but the thought of carrying on the deception for months made her grind her teeth in frustration. Somehow, she'd have to find a way to get herself on the list of staff to be taken with the wretched man, and for that, she'd probably need the help or support of Dr. Morgan. The man had been sympathetic before, maybe she could get him to speak up for her inclusion this time as well.   
In the hustle and bustle of preparations, it was hard to find a time when their paths crossed. When he came to the stables to oversee the welfare of the horses, she was sent to clean out the troughs. When he came to discuss transportation of those animals going with them, she was forking hay into nets in the barn. She felt like screaming at the obstacles put in her path. Any situation that meant she had to meet him outside of normal stable hours put her at potential risk of being discovered, so her only chance was to try and bring herself to his attention during the day. As it was, an opportunity presented itself without her having to scheme at all. 

Mitch walked across the stableyard, engrossed in his notebook, jotting down a list of provisions needed to cater for the horses, their tack, food, medicants and smithy tools. A sharp whinny brought his head up to see one of the hacks, being saddles presumably for m'lord's pleasure, lashing out a hind leg and catching the stable lad, who was innocently walking behind the beast, a ringing blow from a well-placed hoof that sent him to the cobbles. Other staff ran forward, but Mitch was there first, cradling the groaning boys head while he struggled to regain his senses.   
“Don't try to move, where did he get you?”  
A slender hand reached up to cradle his cheek, the boy moaning when Mitch pressed gently to ascertain if the jaw was broken or any teeth loose.   
“You were lucky only to get a glancing blow. You'll have a spectacular bruise, but nothing appears to be broken.” The skin under his fingers seemed impossibly soft, his fingertips trailing down the boy's neck to where the pulse jumped erratically under the skin.   
“Let's get you up, youngun'!” the head groom announced, hauling the boy upright, forcing Mitch to stand as well. The boy swayed a little, Mitch putting a hand out to steady him, but the lad flinched back and he never made contact. The bruised cheek was already starting to swell, that slender hand coming up to cradle the injury, the boy turning his face away and hunching his shoulders.   
“A cold compress will help with the swelling, and rinse your mouth with some salt water to help the teeth settle back in their sockets, just in case. Go easy when you brush your teeth tonight, your gums will be swollen.” Mitch watched as the boy nodded, his ragged hair hiding his eyes and expression, cheek still cradled in his grubby hand, before being led away towards the house for some rough ministrations from the housekeeper.  
“He'll be fine. Boys are tough little buggers, this one more than most. If you hadn't been here he'd probably just got up and carried on about his business, no offense intended.”  
Mitch listened with half an ear to the head groom. “None taken. He hit the cobbles pretty hard, just keep a watch for any undue sleepiness or wobbly gait. He may still have a concussion.”  
The groom gave a loud snort as if mollycoddling stable boys was a ridiculous notion. “More likely to take a stick to his backside if I find him snoozing on the job.”  
“I just meant for the next couple of days, man.”  
“Right you are, sir.”  
Mitch carried on his way to the house, his brow furrowed behind his glasses as he considered the rough care taken of youngsters employed for the hard work about the place. As he reached the house Lord Reiden appeared and hailed him, all thoughts of the stableboy banished from his head by the man's questions about his precious horses, particularly the ones they were taking with them. 

Jamie peered at her face in the spotted and cracked mirror. Her poor features were sadly swollen out of all recognition. She'd probably end up with a black eye as well. Looking as she did, even her poor mother would have had trouble recognizing her. Careful to wash around the injury, she carried on preparing for bed. As instructed she had an old scrap of a towel to soak in the water to act as a compress, plus a small glass of salted water to swill around her mouth as instructed by the good doctor. Later, tucked up in her bed, she thought about her close encounter with the man, the touch of his fingertips on her skin, his intent, concerned look as his eyes searched for further injury beyond just the one to her face. She had kept her own eyes lowered and her face turned away as much as possible during the examination, always aware that if anyone could pierce her disguise, it would be a man of medicine. As it turned out he was just being solicitous of his employer's most humble worker, probably dismissing all thought of the wounded stable boy the instant his back was turned. More important than any brown eyed, gentle doctor was how she was going to be included on this trip that was now only days away from embarking for months on end. The head groom had already agreed for him, Jamie, to help get the horses taken down to Great Yarmouth and loaded on the steamship, but after that, she was supposed to come back and carry on working at the house. Somehow she'd have to find a way to hide on the ship until they sailed and to remain hidden long enough for the ship to be well underway with no likelihood of sending her home. Of course, her plan had numerous possible pitfalls, but she preferred to look forward to success, rather than failure.

In the days leading up to their grand departure, Mitch thought about the stableboy often, wondering how well the jaw was healing, if it was as spectacular in its bruising as he suspected. He hadn't seen the boy when he'd gone down to the stables, no matter what time of the day or night. The four horses going with them were being prepared to be taken to Great Yarmouth, a groom and one other riding the horses at a reasonable pace during the day before his Lordship climbed aboard his carriage to be driven to the port, a loaded baggage carriage following on behind. The Geographical Society photographer would be meeting them at the dockside. The other staff would be conveyed there early on the day of embarkation to prepare Lord Reiden's cabin and check that all his gear was loaded and stored before the man himself appeared. Reiden wanted to be able to time his arrival with the tide and just step aboard and cast off, with as little pomp and circumstance as possible. Mitch just prayed that the balmy weather held for a few more days until they all got their sea legs. A ship of puking servants was not a pleasant prospect. For himself, he had few qualms, his trip over from America proving he was an excellent, if impecunious, traveler. Satisfied that his own packing was complete, he let his valet take the bags down to the dray that would convey all their assorted traveling chests and crates to the ship for loading. Now they just had to wait for the clock to tick around for their journey to start. 

Jamie was up at cock's crow to get the horses ready, her face still a picture of bruising, but despite that, it no longer hurt to eat or chew. The head groom, who was remaining behind, gave out a list of last-minute instructions before waving off his deputy and Jamie, the pair taking saddle bags with them in case of an emergency with the horses, plus a meal to have on the road. Jamie had been squirreling away supplies for the last week, space expected to be taken up by clothing sacrificed to fit in more food so she could hold out, hidden for several days before having to emerge as a stowaway. She had left a note in her room saying she had run away once she reached the docks so that no one would suspect that she'd actually hidden away on the ship. She even had a few pennies to pay for a seat outside on the mail coach intended to bring her back, the head groom not suspecting that the lad would pocket the coins and never be seen again.   
It was time for the four horses to set off, Jamie boosted into the saddle aboard a massive hunter, the reins for its stablemate held in her other hand. She shortened her stirrups, pulled her cloth cap down firmly over her head and kicked her horse into a walk, following the broad back of the groom ahead of her. His bags were already packed and on the drag to follow later in the day. The ride should take no more than four or five hours door to door and the day was fine, so she settled into the jogging rhythm of the horse and allowed herself to enjoy the ride. 

Mitch stared out at the front drive, cup of coffee to his lips, watching the horses being trotted down the driveway, on their way to Great Yarmouth. The stable boy looked like a child perched on the broad back of Reiden's second-best hunter, bouncing up and down in the saddle like a sack of potatoes. He smiled and turned away from the view, returning to the breakfast table to answer some question or other posed by his employer. 

The docks, Great Yarmouth harbor, Norfolk.

The SS Watana was sitting low against the dock, making it easy to lead the horses onto the deck. From there they were encased in a canvas harness and lifted down into the hold where they were then secured in loose boxes build expressly to house them in as much comfort as possible. Jamie had been sent down into the hold with the tack and baggage, then told to stay there to receive the horses one at a time, get them settled and give them a feed before her tasks were done. The groom she'd accompanied was off to the nearest pub to drown his sorrows before embarking on what he considered a lunatic adventure to a heathen land. Jamie didn't have to do it all herself, one of the sailors giving her a hand to take the complicated lifting harness off while she held the horse and kept it calm. When the last horse was lowered into the hold, she was largely left to her own devices, giving the horses a thorough groom, or at least appearing to when anyone cared to look down and wonder what she was doing down there. Her disguise, aided by the cloth cap, was working, no one giving her a second look as she worked in the semi-gloom, moving around the animals like a shadow. She unpacked her supplies and looked around for somewhere to stash both them and herself. Against the end of one loosebox was a number of hay bales to be used for fodder and food. Checking that she wasn't being observed, she heaved and pushed at the bales to make a space large enough for her to squeeze into, along with her belongings. With a last check that the horses were well settled, fed and watered, she wriggled her way into her hidey-hole and settled herself to wait. To make the space more comfortable she used one of the horse blankets to line the cavity and keep the straw from poking her unmercifully. Now she just had to settle in and wait.

Mitch leant on the rail, staring back at the dock as they pulled away, riding high on the outgoing tide. He searched the faces of the people watching the steamer pull away, wondering if the stable boy was watching them leave. The groom sent with the horses couldn't swear to what had happened to the lad, his last contact with the boy when the horses were being loaded. A sailor attested that the boy stayed at his post and was last seen grooming the horses, but no one saw him leave or know what happened to him, only that one minute he was there, the next gone. By the time Lord Reiden arrived, there was no time to check if the boy got on the coach back to the estate, he could only hope the kid arrived back home safely.   
The gap between ship and dock widened, smoke pouring out of the funnel, the Watana giving a mournful hoot and a blast of steam sounding farewell to England for the foreseeable future. They would navigate their way through the English channel, sailing past the western point of France at Brest, across the Bay of Biscay, bypassing the northern cape of Spain and heading for their first refueling stop at Lisbon, Portugal in hopefully five days time, depending on the weather.   
The ship was coming out of the shelter of Yarmouth, hitting the open ocean, the North Sea, and the swells. They would hug the coast until Margate then engage the English channel proper. If all went well they would exit the channel, skirt the Celtic Sea, sail around France and start their journey to southern climes.  
A hard hand clapped him on the shoulder, Mitch turning to find Lord Reiden beside him.   
“Does my heart good to be going adventuring again. I'd forgotten how exhilarating it is. Have you seen your cabin?” Reiden didn't pause for an answer. “The accommodations are not exactly luxurious and we're a little cramped, but she seems a sturdy ship and the Captain came highly recommended, so we must trust in him and the gods to carry us safely to Africa.”  
“I was about to go down and check on the horses...”  
“Do that, my boy, then come back up and read that letter to me again. I never tire of it.”  
Another hard slap on the back and his employer was sauntering off again, taking a turn around the cargo deck and up the steps to the forecastle to stand at the prow.   
Mitch turned away from the railing and made his way to the closest stairs to take him down into the hold. Gratings overhead let in a small amount of the remaining daylight, while metal caged electric lamps provided weak illumination at regular intervals along the walls.   
The horses whickered and snorted when he approached, his hand finding treats in his pockets which he shared out between the four stalwart mounts. He spoke to them, telling them what brave boys there were, how when the weather was fine they'd take off the hatches and let the sun and fresh air in. He also told them that if he could convince his lordship, he'd have them winched out at Lisbon for some exercise before the final push onwards to Madiera and the West African coast. The horses appreciated his attention, not letting on that a certain stable boy was hanging on his every word, or that the same stable boy was want to sneak out and pet the horses to relieve her boredom, but only when she was sure no one was likely to be coming down to check on the beasts.   
Mitch concluded his visit and brushed off the hair and straw clinging to his coat, making his way to the steep stairway up to the next deck and then up to the open deck. The coastline was still in sight when he reached the ship's deck, the sea a greyish blue and flecked with white under the cloud-dotted sky and fading, afternoon sun. Soon it would be dark and they'd need to trust the navigator's knowledge of the waters and the maps they maintained. Steadying himself using the rail, he walked back towards the rear of the boat to finally look out his quarters for the next few weeks. 

Jamie's first night aboard was as comfortable as she could hope for, squashed as she was among the bales of straw. She had heard several people come and go during the day, Dr. Morgan visiting towards the end of the afternoon, almost evening. Tucked down in the bowels of the ship, the effects of the waves was lessened somewhat, but she didn't feel sick or nauseous any more than she had on the trip over from New York, which was a blessing. Trying to hide the sound of someone retching was well-nigh impossible. As that wasn't about to be a problem, she could sleep when she was tired, and nibble her food when she was hungry. The horses weren't about to give her away, so she would reward them while giving herself a stretch to relieve cramped muscles, by scratching behind their ears and under their bellies, under the chins and anywhere a horse liked to be scratched, which was pretty much all over. Only when she heard a sound did she scuttle back to her hiding place and wait for the hold to be clear again.

The English Channel held few fears for their doughty Captain, rounding the northernmost corner of France with ease and heading into the notorious Atlantic Ocean, hoping to avoid a storm as they crossed the Bay of Biscay heading for Spain. Their luck held until the third day, when a storm blew up out of the west and howled into the bay like a train, whipping up the waves and making progress forward heavy going. Canvas had been lashed down over the hatches to prevent rain and seawater from pouring down on the horses, as well as the hold, the air quickly becoming noisome and fetid with the horses voiding their bowels and bladders in their fright at the ship being tossed on the waves. Mitch, together with two other men, plus the groom, did their best to calm the animals and clear up the mess, loading the dung and dirty straw into big sacks to be emptied overboard when it wasn't so rough. With each lurch of the ship, the horses danced over the shifting floor, sliding and bumping into the walls. They all wore halters with lead ropes attached to opposite walls to prevent them hitting their heads, but there wasn't much could be done to prevent them colliding with the upright surfaces around them. Fortunately, the animals were well fed and heavily padded on their large frames, so there wasn't much bruising, just nervous neighs and excitable whinnies adding to the roar of the storm overhead. The two grooms were unfortunately overtaken by sickness in the rough seas, so Mitch offered to stay with the horses and keep them calm. 

Jamie was being thrown around, despite the bales on either side, the cargo crates either side of the hay shifting due to an improperly tied rope worked loose by the constant movement. When the ship lurched and rolled, the crate finally broke loose, sliding and smashing into the stack of bales, the force knocking them apart and spilling Jamie into the open, where she couldn't find her footing. With an inarticulate cry, she was pitched forward and thrown against the bulkhead, the impact making her cry out again. Stunned, she lay there, then the ship rolled in the opposite direction, sending her sliding helplessly across the floor until she ended up colliding with one of the posts of the end loosebox, the force enough to knock her out cold.

Mitch heard the cry but was too busy holding on himself to be able to investigate. When the ship heeled over to starboard, he wrapped himself around the upright and held on for a wild ride. An hour later and the storm had passed over, venting its fury on the French coast while the ship ventured on, undaunted. Mitch loosened his grip on the pole and spent several minutes going from animal to animal, calming them down and soothing shattered nerves. Only when he was stood in the last loose box did he remember the cry. Leaving the horse, he shut the gate and then looked around, seeing the scattered hay bales and loose crate. A bundle of rags had washed up at the base of the loose box wall, the light too dim to see much. As he walked forward, peering into the gloom, the ship rolled, more gently this time, and a pale hand fell away from the body crumpled against the corner post. Like a beacon, the pale skin of the forearm shone in the darkness.  
“Good God!” Mitch braced himself and knelt down, gently turning the body on to its back. The cap had been lost in the tussle with the ship, the bright red hair dulled by dirt but still unmistakable. It was the stable boy thought sent back to the estate. He felt for a pulse and let out the breath he'd been holding to feel it strong and steady under his fingertips. The boy was unconscious, an ugly bump on the side of his head testament to the force of the impact against the post. A clatter of boots announced the arrival of one of the grooms, looking still green around the gills, the man came over to see what the American was looking at.   
“Gawd almighty, it's the lad! What 'appened to 'im?”  
“Got tossed about in the storm, same as we did. Have you come to relieve me? I need to get him up to my cabin and see how bad that knock on the head is.”  
“He's a stowaway, cheeky bugger. It's prison for him.”  
Mitch sent the man a quelling look. “He's still in the employ of Lord Reiden, so there'll be no more talk of prison.” Mitch made to pick up the boy, finding his body lighter than expected. “The horses should be fine now we're not pitching about all over the place. You and the other groom take turns keeping them company from now on, and see about cleaning up this mess. One of the crates came loose so get that secured as well.”  
The man didn't question his orders, just watched, goggle-eyed as the American carried the limp body of the stable boy over his shoulder and up the internal stairs to take him back to the living quarter's aft on the ship. 

It was still the early hours of the morning, not yet dawn, when Mitch shouldered open the door to his cabin, switched on the light and lay the boy down on the bottom bunk.  
“Whatcha got there, Morgan?” Lord Reiden's voice boomed in the small space. Surprised to see his employer up so early, Mitch didn't have time to hide anything.   
“It's your stable boy. He was injured in the storm at its height. I was just about to treat him.”  
“Stableboy? What in great heavens is he doing on board?”  
“I imagine he wanted to come on the grand adventure, same as you. He was living beside the horses down in the hold.”  
“A stowaway then. They meet out harsh penalties for such behavior, you know?”  
“A bit excessive, don't you think? He's not done any harm, only looked after the horses. I don't imagine he eats much, given how light he is.”  
Reiden stared at the slight figure on the bed then let out a harumph. “Best see to his hurts then. He can make himself useful fetching and carrying when he's up and about.” Reiden laughed. “A cabin boy, of sorts, what?”  
Mitch nodded, glad that Reiden wasn't about to punish the boy on top of everything else. “Very generous of you, I'll tell him when he wakes up.” Mitch paused. “Was there something you needed?”  
Reiden shook his head. “Couldn't sleep, all that jostling about, it ruins my digestion.”  
Mitch smiled. “Then I'll say goodnight, milord. One of the grooms is with the horses, so I'll try and get some sleep myself.” The ship lurched and both men reached out to brace themselves on the walls. “That's if the sea allows.”  
Reiden laughed and waved his hand before going back inside his own cabin and shutting the door. Alone, at last, Mitch closed his cabin door and ran some water into the small sink each cabin had. Wringing out a cloth, he positioned the boy further into the bunk to allow him to sit on the edge and minister to the swelling on the boys head. Pressing the cold cloth to the lump he stared down into the boys face for the first time. Dark lashes rested on peach smooth cheeks, delicate brows, darker red than his hair, arched over translucent eyelids. His nose was straight and narrow above lips that were pink and bowed. The bruise was fading fast, the swelling all but gone, leaving a soft curve down to the jawline. For a male of the species, the child was very delicate, a smattering of pale freckles emphasizing the translucent look of his skin. Using the damp cloth, he wiped it over the boy's face, brushing the hair back off the forehead, cleaning away smears of dirt. With each gentle swipe, he removed more dirt, revealing features that were at odds with what he thought he knew about the boy. A suspicion was starting to form and he shook his head to banish it, but it persisted. He blinked, his eyes gritty, feeling the nights events starting to catch up with him. He was tired, that was all.   
He got up and rummaged for a spare shirt for the boy to use as a nightshirt, then sat on the bed and started to remove the grubby layers that functioned as the child's clothing. He pulled off the jacket, then the boots with their tatty socks revealing elegant feet. Next, he tackled the shirt, tugging it over the slender wrists, leaving the boy dressed in a vest and trousers. He pulled the boy upright, the better to get the vest off over his head, but his hands encountered bandaging against the skin. Pulling the vest over the lads head, he looked down at the wrapping covering the thin chest from armpit to belly button. Convinced now that it was no boy he had in front of him, he once more lifted the limp body and started to unwind the tight wrappings, each strip revealing more and more pale skin, until the last strip fell away and he saw the proof of his suspicions, the stable boy was a girl, two small mounds of flesh tipped with prominent pink nipples reacting to the cooler air of the cabin. With a doctors assessment, he noted the ribs showing too obviously meaning she was possibly undernourished, the collar bones starkly visible under the pale skin. He removed the last item of clothing, the ragged trousers, revealing the last indisputable proof of her gender. Holding her carefully he eased on the shirt, covering her from her neck to her knees before lifting the covers and tucking her into the bed. He went to the sink and rung out the cloth, resoaking it and placing it on the boy's....girl's head to aid in taking down the swelling. Now that the truth was out, he mentally wondered where his wits were to have missed it, the girl was feminity personified with delicate features, clear skin and a slender figure topped with a ragged haircut. He felt like a fool to have missed what now seemed so obvious. He pulled over and opened the folding camp chair, sitting himself beside the bed, watching the girl for any sign of awakening.  
Despite his tiredness, he mulled over what possible motivations a girl could have to masquerade as a stable boy. Was it because it was the only work she could get? Was she homeless with no family to protect her? Was such menial and hard work better than no work, or worse, prostitution? Who was he to judge her reasoning, but she had now placed him in a difficult position. If he went along with her deception, keeping her identity from the rest of the crew and Reiden, what would happen to his position, his income, his life if he was found to be hiding her? What possible excuse could he give for doing so? On the other hand, if he gave her up, exposed her charade, what would become of her then? In all likelihood, Reiden would dump her at their first port of call and leave her to fend for herself. With no money and no protection, she'd be snapped up by the first brothel keeper and be surely worse off before the day was out. If she was a virgin, it didn't bear thinking on.   
Mitch pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his sore eyes. He really needed to sleep, but if the girl awoke and found herself in his shirt, in his cabin, she'd think the worse and probably panic. It only needed one other person to discover her ruse and the gig was up. Nothing he could say or do after that would save her. If he could just stay awake long enough, he could explain that he wouldn't expose her, that she could continue as the stable boy and keep her secret. He folded his arms across his chest, spectacles dangling from his fingers and felt a yawn coming on. Scant seconds later and he nodded off, his chin settling on his chest, his breaths deep and slow.


	2. Subterfuge

Chapter Two – Subterfuge

She awoke to a pounding headache, her skull feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice. Despite the pain, it still registered that she wasn't among the hay bales anymore, she was in a bed with warm blankets covering her. The pillow was soft under her head but did little to alleviate the discomfort from her injury. Uncovering one hand, she reached up and gingerly probed the lump under her hair. It hurt, but the more she woke up, the more the pain receded to a dull ache. She stared around the small cabin, but there was little to tell her who it belonged to. A folding camp chair was set up at the end of her bed and she suspected that whoever had brought her to the cabin had sat there, watching her. The overhead electric light had been left on, adding to the light seeping through the curtains. She groaned and shifted, the faint smell of laundry soap recalled her to what she was wearing, her fingers wandering over the clean linen, fingering the buttons of a man's shirt being used as a nightshirt. So whoever brought her to the cabin, had undressed and redressed her in one of his own shirts, which also meant he knew that she was not a he. So why was she comfortably lying in a bunk bed when she should be in the brig, or lockup exposed as a stowaway and a fraud. Her brain seemed fuzzy, and she still felt tired. Having few options, she closed her eyes and sank into a doze.

Mitch eased the door open, careful not to tip the tray or spill the contents before closing the door behind him. The girl appeared to still be asleep, her arm outside of the covers, her face turned away from the room. He put the tray down at the bottom of the bed and sat down in the chair. He'd slept for several hours in the chair, then woke up stiff and sore just before dawn. With his patient still asleep, he went to the head to relieve himself, then went down to the galley to see what he could find for breakfast. Now he sat and watched his patient. He rested his elbow on the chair and pulled out the drawer beneath the bunk. He found a book and pulled it out to read. A knock at the door an hour later jerked him out of a light doze. Getting to his feet he opened the door.  
“How is the boy?”  
“He's still asleep, but I expect he'll wake up shortly, then I'll be able to assess him.”  
Lord Reiden nodded as if expecting no less. “Let me know how he's doing.”  
“I will,” Mitch replied, shutting the door once Reiden turned away. He turned back to face the bed and saw that his patient was finally awake. Half-open, soft grey-green eyes regarded him from the bunk, a few strands of red hair drifting over her forehead.   
“You know,” she stated, her voice no longer gruff but soft and resigned.   
“That you're not a boy? I'm afraid so. You were knocked out by the storm, last night. Got quite a bump on your head. I brought you up here and put you to bed.”  
“You undressed me?”  
“And redressed you in one of my shirts.”  
“So why am I here and not locked up for being a stowaway?”  
Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Do you want to be locked up?”  
“No. But you know it all, now.” She winced when a twinge brought a thumping headache back to the fore.   
“Head painful?” he asked, getting up and opening the medicine cupboard over the sink. He took out a bottle and spoon. “I'll give you some laudanum, just a tiny dose, but it should help take the edge off.” He poured a small amount onto the spoon, carrying it carefully over and holding it out. “Open up.” When she complied, he slipped the spoon in her mouth and she took the dose, grimacing at the taste. Dropping the spoon into the sink, he reached for the glass of water on the tray and handed that to her. “Wash it down with this. I brought breakfast for you if you're hungry?”  
She nodded and gave him a small smile. “Ravenous.” Shuffling up the bed to make room, she pulled the tray towards her and lifted up the cover off the plate. Underneath was scrambled eggs, bacon, a sausage, plus two slices of toast. Her stomach growled loudly and she fell on the food, gobbling it down after a few cursory chews, filling her empty belly as fast as she could. Mitch watched on, amused and somewhat alarmed. When the plate was empty along with the glass, he lifted the tray onto the top bunk to get it out of the way.   
“Better?”  
The girl wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded.   
“So let's start with introductions. Mine name is Mitch, short for Mitchell. You can call me that when it's just us, otherwise I'd recommend you continue calling me Dr. Morgan or sir, as you have been.”  
“You're not going to rat me out?”  
“No. I can understand some of your reasoning for masquerading as a boy, as for the rest, I'm sure you'll tell me the truth in time.”  
She seemed to spend a few minutes chewing that over before coming to a decision. “I was born Jessamine Amelia Campbell, but I shortened it to Jamie. Works whether I'm a boy or...not.”  
“Jamie. Fine by me. Lord Reiden knows you've been discovered, plus the groom was there when I carried you up here, so being a stowaway again isn't an option.”  
“Is he going to put me off the ship?”  
“Lord Reiden? No, I shouldn't think so. He fancies the idea of you being a cabin boy, fetching and carrying and all that. Think you could manage it?”  
“Won't he see through my...disguise?”  
“Hardly think so, I didn't and I've seen far more of you than he has in the past weeks.”  
“That's true. You really had no idea?”  
Mitch shook his head. “Keep your appalling haircut and a layer of grime and no one will twig to your game once you're dressed in your rags again.”  
“Thank you.”  
“No need. Despite being a man, I can understand that a young woman fallen on hard times and with no money or protection has to use whatever wiles and gimmicks she can to keep herself safe.”  
“Then you must be an extraordinary man, Mitch. Most would want to take advantage of the situation or twist it to suit themselves.”  
Mitch choked, mortified. “I'm hardly the ravisher of children, Jamie. You are quite safe with me.”  
Jamie looked a little taken aback. “You think me a child?”  
“Well, you can't be more than fifteen or so. I'd still class that as a child, wouldn't you?”  
“I'm twenty-five. I used to be a journalist, a newspaper reporter for a prominent paper. I was earning my own living, even had an apartment in the city. More recently I sailed from New York to England on my own. Would you expect that of a child?”   
“Only a very precocious one. My apologies if I insulted you. Your slight appearance belies your advanced age.”  
His patients umbrage faded instantly. “I'm afraid I lost my money which is why I had to look for work. It was just dumb luck that I heard about the need for a stable boy and thought I could pull it off.” It was partly the truth, sufficient to cover the lie hidden within, she consoled herself.   
“Well, you did a grand job. No one suspects a thing, as far as I can tell. You won't be able to come on the expedition, of course, but we might find a way for you to stay on the ship, or maybe stay with someone safely on shore...”  
“Why can't I come?” Jamie retorted hotly. “Part of the reason I stowed away was to follow Lord Reiden and cover the story from an insiders point of view. I hope to sell the story to a paper and maybe be hired back to my old job.”  
Mitch couldn't stop the burst of laughter before he could muffle it. “Sorry. You're very earnest, but life in England is very different to life in America. If you were to apply to be a new paper reporter, you'd find yourself in a very solitary position.”  
“Don't women work in England?”  
“They do, but within a very limited capacity. School teachers, domestics, shopkeepers, business owners sometimes...”  
“What? No women writers, adventurers, explorers, scientists?”  
He conceded. “There are some, but again, few and far between.”  
“Then I can be one of the few and far between with my report on this expedition.”  
Mitch gave her a candid look. “I didn't see much in the way of writing materials about your person. Where is your journal? Your notes?”  
Jamie looked down at the bed covers. Of course, she didn't have any of those things, she'd only just thought up the idea about the story that very moment. “I was going to slip ashore and buys some at our first stop.”  
Mitch didn't believe a word of it, but let it slide. Animals were never at their best when backed into a corner.   
“Whatever you say. In the meantime, you need to get back into your old persona of Jamie, the grubby urchin and stable boy employed by Lord Reiden. I didn't get rid of your rags, but I did give them a good beating to evict the fleas.”  
“Thank you.”  
Mitch got up and went to a narrow cupboard that served as his wardrobe. He pulled out a bundle with her battered boots sitting on top.   
“Here's your costume.” He saw the face she pulled. “I'll try and get you something else to wear when we dock at Lisbon.”  
Jamie took the bundle and glanced up at him. “You don't need to do that. I can't repay you.”  
“If Reiden wants you to be his cabin boy, he'll not want to see you in those rags any longer than he has to.”  
Jamie nodded her acceptance, hugging the clothes to her chest. “Um...my bindings?”  
Mitch indicated the bundle. “All in there. I had better stay in the room while you affect your transformation, in case anyone wants to check up on you. If there's a knock at the door, dive under the covers and pretend to be asleep.” He picked up the folding chair and positioned it in the small space so he had his back to the bunk beds, once more picking up his book to amuse him while he waited for her to change back into the stable boy disguise.   
She hesitated a moment, then laid the rags out, putting the boots at the end of the bed. Hesitating she watched her rescuer for a moment, noting the slight curl where his dark hair met his starched collar, the broad shoulders only hinting at the muscles beneath, sufficient to carry her up from the hold to his cabin with ease. Giving herself a shake, she started to dress, unbuttoning the shirt and pulling it over her head. Then came the hated bindings, wound tight around her chest to flatten her breast, small as they were. Following that was the vest, trousers and over shirt, then finally her boots and jacket. Her cloth cap was the last item to don, Jamie jamming it down on her head to shade her face and further conceal her female traits. Dressed, she carefully folded the shirt, smoothing her fingers over its clean, white fabric before placing it under the pillow.  
“All done, guv'nor,” she announced, standing up behind him.   
Mitch shut his book, he hadn't read a word anyway, and got up, folding the chair and leaning it against the wall to free up space. Jamie had once more transformed herself from slender, pretty girl into a grubby, slouching urchin with a turned down mouth and shadowed eyes.   
“Perfect. How's the headache?”  
“Tolerable.”  
Mitch arched an eyebrow above the rim of his round glasses. “Tolerable?”  
Jamie shrugged. “It's not thumpin', is that bet'er?” she answered gruffly, back in character.  
“Ah....there he is. Welcome back, urchin. I'd better take you along to be introduced to Reiden. Remember to take your cap off and hold it in front of you, like this,” he demonstrated. “Don't speak unless spoken too, and keep your head lowered. Boys tend to fidget, so some foot shuffling would not be unexpected.”  
Jamie nodded, understanding all too well how much depended on her performance. Mitch led the way out of his cabin, then two steps over to Lord Reiden's cabin door. When he knocked, a voice called out for him to enter. Jamie followed, whipping off her flat cap and holding it in his hands, turning it like a wheel and crinkling the edge.  
Lord Reiden was sitting at a desk, writing. He turned to survey what he assumed was the errant stable boy. “What's your name, boy?”  
“Jamie, if you please, sir.”  
“And your last name?”  
“Campbell, sir.”  
Lord Reiden let out a bark of laughter. “A Scot, no less. Explains the red hair, I suppose. Why did you stowaway on my blasted ship, lad? Eh?”  
Jamie mumbled a reply, her head lowered. Lord Reiden looked perplexed. “What did the boy say?”  
“I think he said something about wanting to have an adventure, Reiden.”  
Milord laughed again. “An adventure? Well, you picked the right time for that, boy. We're sailing to Africa for the biggest adventure of all time.” He tapped his chin with his pen. “Do you like working with the horses?”  
Jamie gave a lopsided shrug, then nodded.  
“Good. But they don't need much doing during the voyage and I have several grooms to take care of them, so what are we going to do with you?” He stared at the boy, his eyes narrowed.   
Jamie decided it was time for some drama. She dropped to her knees on the carpet and clasped her hands together, still clutching her hat. “Please m'lord, don't put me off, I can be useful, I knows I can. I could keep the doctor and your rooms clean, wash ya clothes....just don't put me off the boat, please, sir.”  
Reiden looked a little taken aback, but got to his feet and put down his pen. “I don't see any need to go to those extremes. Get up, boy, no need to beg. I was thinking of giving you the job of cabin boy, wasn't I Morgan?”  
“You were, Reiden. And with my valet still down with seasickness, I could use the boy to take care of my things.”  
“Capital notion. For starters, you can take my boots and give them a polish. They were splashed with salt water yesterday and I don't want them ruined. Ask my valet how to take care of them. That's all I can think of right now. Take the boy away, Morgan and find something to keep him out of mischief.”  
Mitch inclined his head, reaching down to pull Jamie to her feet and pull her out of the room. Jamie pulled away, hissing at her protector. “The boots!”  
Mitch heard her. “Those boots you spoke of, are they in here?”   
Reiden had turned back to his correspondence and waved vaguely towards a cupboard set into the wall. Mitch opened it and saw the boots, salt crusted on the leather. Picking them up he thrust them at Jamie who clutched them to her chest and started to back out of the room, bowing low repeatedly. Reiden watched the stable boy bow his way out of the room and waved Mitch over.   
“He looks so slight a strong wind could carry him off. Make sure you feed the boy to build him up.”  
“I was thinking along the same lines, m'lord and gave him a hearty breakfast.”  
Reiden smiled and waved him away.   
Mitch stepped out of the cabin and stopped dead. Jamie was standing in the passageway, still clutching the boots, but her ear was being held and painfully pulled by Reiden's valet, Creighton. Jamie was standing on tiptoes to try and relieve the pinching grip, her head turned on its side to lift her poor ear higher. Her eyes were watering and she was biting her lip to stop from crying out.   
“Is there a problem, Creighton?” Mitch asked, his drawl more evident. The valet sniffed and glanced down his nose at Jamie.   
“Caught this sneak thief stealing m' lord's boots!” He gave Jamie's ear a vicious twist, tears leaking from her tightly shut eyes as she winced with the pain.   
“He wasn't stealing them, he was ordered to clean them by Lord Reiden himself.”  
Creighton looked suitably shocked but didn't let go of the offending ear. “But that's my responsibility. The guttersnipe will ruin the leather!”  
“Then you'd better show him how to do it properly,” Mitch ordered his words almost a growl. Creighton sniffed and turned to march away, dragging poor Jamie with him, still holding tight to her now red and inflamed ear.   
“Let the boy go, Creighton. Reiden thinks having the boy around is a novelty. I'd hate for him to hear how you are abusing his new distraction.”  
The valet almost snarled, but took the caution at face value, giving Jamie's ear a final, burning twist before letting it go, Jamie instantly clapping a hand over the tortured cartilage and shrinking back from the servant. Her eyes briefly darted up to meet her rescuers, but only for a second then she was trotting along behind Creighton to learn the basics of boot polishing.   
Mitch stayed in the passageway, watching until they disappeared into another cabin, then he marched over to his own, slamming the door shut behind him.   
He paced the short length of the room to calm himself down and let some of the adrenaline leech out of his blood. He'd come within a hair's breadth of pummelling the supercilious valet into the floorboards for his treatment of Jamie. Servants could be unbelievable cruel if they felt their own position were under threat. He only hoped his own words were sufficient to spare the girl too much abuse at the hands of the valet. Soon enough he was calmer, a yawn taking him by surprise. One way and another he'd missed out on a decent night's sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, he gave in to his weariness and lay down, lifting his stockinged feet after kicking off his shoes. He'd just rest his eyes for a little while, then he'd be refreshed and ready to see how the horses were after the rough night. He just about had the presence of mind to remove his spectacles before he fell deeply asleep. 

Jamie placed the boots outside Lord Reiden's door, the leather free of any saltwater stain and looking like new. Creighton hadn't been particularly nice, but he knew his job and soon had Jamie polishing the leather to a high shine. Creighton dismissed the boy with a sneer when the job was done, not interesting in teaching the interloper any more of his secret tricks to keeping his employer's belongings in pristine shape. Jamie had been glad to leave the cabin, the other valet had been sick for three days, the room reeking of vomit and sweat, despite the small window being open. The man had looked grey-faced and wasting away, his eyes feverishly bright in a pasty, gaunt face.  
Now she opened the door into Dr. Morgan's cabin, shutting it behind her. She saw the tray on the top bunk, left there since he'd brought her breakfast. Thinking to return the favor she climbed up the ladder and retrieved the tray, careful not to disturb the man slumbering in the bottom bunk below. She found her way to the galley purely by following the smell of cooking. The kitchen was small but compactly arranged with storage everywhere. The cook was a small man with a pipe permanently fixed between his teeth. He looked up when Jamie sidled in, tray still in hand.   
“Enjoy ya breakfast?”  
Jamie nodded. “Never tasted anything bet'er.”  
“Hah. Hunger makes everything taste good. What de ye want now?”  
“Thought I'd return the kindness and take the doctor some lunch?”  
The cook grunted but lifted his lip around the pipe stem in a strange snarling smile. “Good thinking, young'un. Keep in sweet with the toffs and they'll see you right.” The man banged around some pots, Jamie keeping near the doorway so as not to be trampled in the small space. She was directed to put the tray down, the breakfast plate and glass removed and replaced with a sturdy china mug full of soup and a plate generously piled high with bread, sandwiched together with strips of meat and bacon, the bread itself slathered with baking grease to add flavor. The cook then added a second, smaller mug of soup for the boy, plus a couple of apples.   
“Normally they eats in the dining room, but seeing as the gent is snoring, he'll prefer a tray, so off with you and don't spill a drop, that's me best soup.”  
Jamie picked up the laden tray and muttered a heartfelt 'thank you' to the cook and staggered out. She was already attuned to the rise and fall of the ship, her body aligning itself so it looked like she was leaning over at an angle as she negotiated the passageway back to the doctor's cabin. Just as she reached the door, Reiden's opened and milord peered out.   
“Hey, boy, that's not my tray is it?”  
“No, sir, It was made up for Doctor Morgan. I can go get one for you next if you like?”  
“Do that. Don't know where Creighton's got to...” Reiden muttered to himself, then turned to go into his room, shutting the door.   
Jamie put the tray down and opened the doctor's cabin door, then picked up the tray and carried it in, setting it down on the floor by the chair before running out again to order the same for his lordship. As luck would have it the man's valet was watching for him and darted out, grabbing Jamie by the shoulder in a painful grip.  
“What you running about, hither and thither for, eh?”  
“Lord Reiden asked for a lunch tray...I was just gonna get it.”  
“Ho, more job stealing. You can go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, brat. I'll get the tray, thank you very much. Off with you!” The man shoved Jamie and took a swing with his foot to kick her backside but she dodged out of the way and ran back the way she'd come, slamming the cabin door behind her and breathing hard.   
“Were you being chased?” a sleep-roughened voice asked behind her. She turned around to face the room, the good doctor just lowering his sock covered feet to the floor having been awakened by her precipitous entry. He put on his glasses while waiting for her to answer.  
“Um...not really. I just wanted to get back before the soup got cold.” She walked forward and picked up the tray off the floor. “Here....lunch.”  
Mitch stared at the tray, then up at her. “Thank you.” He took the larger mug, sniffing the contents appreciably. “Put the tray on the bed and we can both have some of the bread.”  
Jamie pulled over the camp chair near to the bed and picked up her mug, sipping the tasty soup with an appetite. The sandwiches were not elegant, but very tasty and went the same way as the soup. Jamie was licking her fingers to get the last smear when she raised her eyes, mid-lick to find Mitch watching her, grinning.  
“Wot!” she asked before going back to her task. Mitch just shook his head and bent to find his shoes, putting them on before standing up. He glanced at the window, noting it was more early afternoon than midday.   
“Come on, time for the rest of the crew to see you and know you're no longer a stowaway but part of the expedition, for the time being.”  
He led the way out the cabin and the short distance to a door leading to the outside. It opened onto a canvas covered verandah one level above the ship's deck, but below the boat deck where the Captain steered the ship and controlled her speed. She walked to the steep stairs down to the deck and headed down. Mitch took her to where the two heads were located, right at the rear, although she'd found them herself when the need arose earlier. They negotiated the last set of stairs to the main deck and then proceeded to walk around the perimeter of the boat in a slow perambulation. The air was brisk and sharp, a welcome change to the stuffy cabins. Jamie sucked in lungful's and tipped her head back, letting the wind caress her face. She lost her cap to a particularly strong gust and had to chase it over the deck, the crewmembers working there laughing at her antics. She left the cap off, letting the strong breeze ruffle her short hair, blowing it every which way. Mitch had buttoned up his jacket against the forceful wind, only now realizing that Jamie's tatty garb was ill-equipped to keep her warm in such conditions. He started to unbutton his jacket to give it to her when her hand on his arm stopped him.   
“Stop. It will look odd. Gentlemen don't take their jackets off to give to urchins. Young ladies, maybe, but not stable rats.”  
Mitch reached for the few buttons he'd started to undo. “You're right, I'm sorry. Are you cold? We can go inside again if you are?”  
Jamie waited until they were past a couple of the crew. “You are kind, Mitch, but I'm used to the well-ventilated nature of my clothing. I'm not cold.”  
He smiled at her description of the rags on her back. She may profess to not feel the cold, but she currently had her arms folded over her chest in the manner of someone trying to keep warm.   
“Well, I've had enough fresh air to last me awhile. I'm heading back...coming?”  
At that moment, Creighton, the valet, arrived on deck to take advantage of escaping his noisome cabin and the relatively benign seas. Jamie shrank back to hide behind Mitch, staying in his shadow and attempting to make herself invisible. Mitch made no comment but shifted a little to more firmly place Jamie behind his body, shielding her. Only when Creighton turned his back to lean on the opposite rail, did they both move, still saying nothing, but heading to the cabin quarters. Only when she was out of the man's sight entirely did she raise her head and lower her shoulders, relaxing in the relative safety of Mitch's company. He still remained mute, his hand finding the small of her back, unconscious acknowledgment of her gender, as he shepherded her the short distance to his cabin, closing the door behind them once they were inside.   
Jamie was breathing quickly, wrapping her arms around her chest in an attempt to calm herself. Mitch was leaning with his back against the door eyeing her closely.   
“He frightened you,” he stated. Jamie looked up at him, one hand drifting up to cup her abused ear.   
“He wasn't exactly gentle, and I've never had that done to me before.” Her eyes glistened remembering the agony of the man's grip.  
Mitch took a step forward, narrowing the space between them. “He was angry and scared.”  
Jamie turned her shoulder to him. “He was mean and a bully.”  
He took another step forward, reaching out a hand to stroke over her hunched shoulder. “I won't let him hurt you again.”  
She could feel the warmth of his hand through her clothes, the broad palm soothing, moving to the nape of her neck, massaging the tight muscles muscle.  
“You can't be everywhere, it would look weird.” Her voice cracked, exposing her fears of being cornered by the beastly cur. Mitch used gentle pressure to turn her towards him, cradling her head and pulling it towards his chest, his other hand encircling her and landing in the middle of her back to hold her against him.  
“Then I'll just have to make sure I'm near all the time.” His voice rumbled in his chest, against her ear and she relaxed a little more, her own arms held between their bodies, while he held her loosely, hugging her against him but easily broken if she pulled back. She didn't want to pull back. The thump of his heart against her cheek was wonderfully soothing, his hands just resting atop her clothes, not taking any liberties or unwanted caresses, just holding her securely and safely. Mitch rested his chin on her head, her spiky hair tickling his throat above his starched collar. She felt fragile and delicate and he wanted nothing more than to protect her from the slings and arrows of people like the valet. It was a ridiculous notion, but he felt it nonetheless. She had completely relaxed against him, accepting his kindness, allowing him to touch her to impart a feeling of safety with him, even if it was an illusion. She was quite right, he couldn't be every she had to go, but he'd do his best to deter Creighton or anyone else who wanted to abuse her, or in their case a defenseless stable boy, that she did have a champion in him.   
They stayed leaning against each other in a loose embrace for several long minutes. Only when someone dropped something and started to curse just beyond the cabin door did they start to pull back, fear making her go rigid where before she'd been soft and supple against him. His hands rose up to cradle her head, holding her from backing away. Tilting her head upwards, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyes opening wide, startled by the unexpected salute.   
“Mitch?”  
He let her go, his hands dropping to his side. “It was just something to reassure you I'm on your side. I'll do what I can to keep Creighton off your back, but you have to try and avoid him as well.”  
She gave him a nod of agreement, still a little unsure after that platonic kiss.   
Mitch raked his fingers through his hair. “I have to go and see Reiden, so stay here and keep out of sight. You'll probably have to get a tray for your supper, or else eat with the crew, if you'd prefer. I'll be with Reiden and the Captain, plus his first officer in the officer's mess, so I won't see you until later on.”  
She again nodded her understanding, watching as he peered into the mirror to check his appearance before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding, sitting herself down heavily on the bottom bunk bed. Dammit, but the man was adorable, with his melting brown eyes behind his round spectacles, his quirky dark brows, and smiling mouth. She'd have to take care not to fall for his charm and white knight tendencies, and remember why she was in this pickle in the first place. She was here to end the life of Lord Reiden in retaliation for his involvement in the destruction of her mother and family. She wasn't there to get involved with gallant doctors who made her feel cherished and protected. She went and lay down on the bottom bunk, her head fitting into the dent he'd left in the pillow. She stared out the gap between the dark curtains covering the window, noting that the sky was clear of clouds promising, hopefully, a storm-free night and safe sailing across what was left of the Bay of Biscay.   
She banished all silly romantic thoughts about Dr. Morgan by bringing up images of her family, of her mother before she was ill, of days when she had no worries or sorrows when she was little and had all her life ahead of her. With each recall, her eyes prickled with tears, until she was sobbing into her pillow with the agony of her loss, a timely reminder of her mission and purpose in being on the ship in the first place. 

When Mitch finally returned to the cabin, Jamie was settled in the top bunk, the covers pulled up to her ears, and her back to the room. He switched on the light then set about getting himself ready for bed. He filled the sink and had a wash, stripping down to his undershirt, taking the braces off his shoulders and letting them hang while he washed his face, neck, and underarms. He toweled off, glancing every now and then at his room companion, but she didn't stir and he carried on. After a wash, he cleaned his teeth with the powder and brush, rinsing thoroughly. Ablutions over, he sat on the side of the bottom bunk and took off his shoes and socks. The socks had seen better days and needed a wash, as did his shirt, a job for Jamie in the morning. He stripped down to his drawers, then folded his clothes and left them on the chair for the next day. Jamie had left his nightshirt folded on his pillow and he donned that before getting up to switch off the bulb, plunging the room into darkness until his eyes adjusted. He took off his glasses and tucked them under his pillow, for easy access, then slid into the bunk, his feet hitting the wall at the bottom. The beds were built for anyone six foot and under, but he was a little over that height, hence hitting the bottom wall. He turned on his side and lay staring into the darkness. A little light from a lamp outside bled into the room through the curtains, but hardly enough to see his hand in front of his face. Light also could be seen in a thin strip under the cabin door, but not sufficient to do more than glow in the dark like a firefly. The steady thump of the steam engine three floors down was a soothing sound, the occasional shout from a crew member, or a raucous laugh cutting through the mechanical background music, the roll and pitch of the ship as she plowed onwards rocking him to sleep. Adding to the noises of his cabin, was the steady, soft breathing of the person in the bunk above him, her body sometimes shifting as she wriggled further down the covers or moved her legs under the sheets. He had never associated the sounds of someone sleeping nearby as particularly erotic, as in the past his bed partners had rarely stayed for the night, or his visits to them had only been of a short duration. His last, long-term relationship had been his brief marriage, back in the States, forced on him by an unwanted pregnancy. He'd persevered with the sham marriage, truly loving the child, but having little in common with the mother. At length, after a couple of troubled years, they agreed to separate and get a divorce. It had broken his heart to leave his beloved Clementine behind, but his decision to move on was a relief for all concerned. After all this time, he'd forgotten what it was like to lay in the dark and listen to someone breath, someone feminine and sweet, so perfectly suited she fit against him in all the right places. Despite her rough life and necessary disguise, she held the scent of a woman on her skin and in her hair, his kiss the first in a very long time to be pressed to warm flesh, albeit innocently against her forehead. Wasn't that the way mother's checked their children when they weren't well? A protective act that so easily could be turned into something passionate. Just knowing that sweet body, so briefly glimpsed with his professional eye, was sleeping a hands breadth above him caused his body to react. Once set on that path, he brought up his memories of stripping her down to her skin or unwinding the lengths of cloth to reveal her small breasts and their pink-tipped nipples, the sleek line of her thighs with the small patch of red curls at their apex. What a treasure hidden beneath the rags covering it. It was all the more erotic because he was the only one to know. Every other man looked at her and saw only a grubby street kid, dirt behind his ears and appalling personal habits. He knew what truly lay disguised beneath the grime, the slender arms, delicate neck, the pulse visible beneath the velvety skin, the long legs and elegant feet, perfectly formed for fondling and stroking, kissing and sucking. His memories turned and twisted the images into erotic fantasies, of her body naked and welcoming, her legs wide to invite him between them, her arms, light and soft wrapped around his head while his mouth feasted on those lips so beautifully shaped.   
His hand was under his nightgown and working over his flesh, bringing him to his peak, his teeth biting down on his lip to prevent any sound escaping while he expelled his semen over his fingers and thighs. He lay, supine and relaxed, enjoying the brief exhilaration of release, the fluid growing cold and sticky on his hand. Letting out a long, slow breath, he turned on his side, back to the room and calmed his mind for sleep. 

Jamie kept still until she heard his breathing even out, a faint snore lifting to her ears telling her he was asleep. He'd been noisier that he probably thought he was. The barely repressed groans, the faint, high pitched moans, the long release of breath when it was all over. She knew what he'd been doing, nights spent sleeping in the same room as her much older brothers and cousins had taught her those sounds, the only one missing being the rustle of the mattress and squeak of the springs. For her, it felt like the temperature in the cabin had jumped several degrees warmer, her thighs pressing together to relieve the ache building, but she dare not attend to her own desires while he was still awake. He would hear and know, and she'd never be able to face him again. It was bad enough that she knew, for heaven's sake. She moved under the covers, then froze to see if it provoked any reaction, when it didn't she threw off the blankets to give her greater access to her own body, her fingers starting up a familiar rhythm, heat blooming low in her belly. She almost wished she was a boy and had a willy to pull on and stroke, having to make do with her own in the meantime, her mind conjuring up images and impressions, remembering the feel of his chest under her cheek, the smell of his sweat and cologne, so exotic and befuddling. She could picture, from seeing her male relations bathing and swimming, what his anatomy would look like, the hair down there as dark as his head and brows, his member quiescent until it rose and his hand came down to surround it. Just thinking about him bringing himself pleasure almost tipped her over the edge, her fingers moving faster in circles designed to stimulate and excite. She added the sounds he'd made to the image she'd formed, together with the smell she remembered. To bring on her own pleasure she imagined it was his fingers, his hand between her legs, touching her, penetrating her. She muffled her small cry as her body convulsed and jerked, her hand clamped between her thighs to keep the pressure just right while she rode out her climax. Slowly she relaxed against the mattress and pulled up the covers before she got chilled. Sleep came easily after that and she smiled to think how shocked the man sleeping below her would be if he only knew. Just before she slipped into slumber she briefly wondered who he thought of while he masturbated. 

Morning found the ship sailing past the northernmost tip of Spain, the land only a darker blur on the horizon as they sailed out of the bay of Biscay and into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, heading down the coast of Spain to the port of Lisbon on the Tagus River estuary, or Lisboa in the Spanish.  
The weather remained clement, the ship making good speed to reach the port in the estimated five days expected. They saw other ships using the same route, signally for any messages that might need passing on back to England or onwards to Africa. Jamie would hang on the rail as the ships drew close, looking at the people sailing home to England, those faces both hopeful and despairing, depending on their reasons. The crew would wave and cheer when the ships briefly came together, a rope sent over for anything other than people wanting to be returned to Africa, while letters from crewmen to their families were similarly passed to the ship sailing for England. Thus the post was carried to its final destination. All too quickly the ships parted in opposite directions, wishing Godspeed and fair weather to both, Captain saluting Captain as they passed.   
As their steamship passed closer to land, seabirds became common visitors, harassing the sailors fishing off the side, squawking and diving for heads and tails discarded in the cleaning of the catch.   
Jamie soaked it all in, her duties for Lord Reiden light to non-existent for the time being, his valet making a concerted effort to ensure there was nothing for the upstart boy to do. Jamie didn't argue the point, happy to spend her time on the deck, usually hidden in a corner to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air.   
As they approached closer to the coast in preparation for the approach to Lisbon, they saw more and more ships, some heading north heavily loaded with goods, while others headed due west to cross the ocean to South America and America with a visit to the Azores. Many were fishing vessels surrounded by a cloud of attendant seabirds. Several of the ships were majestic sailing vessels under full sheet, others blowing clouds of dirty smoke, much like their own as they steamed away from Lisbon to other ports along the coast. The mouth of the river Tagus welcomed them in, the Watana cruising past the headland at the mouth of the estuary, with more and more houses appearing to crowd the shore, while boats, big and small, plied the narrow waterway in ever-increasing numbers. The ship slowed down to allow for the amount of water traffic, everyone leaning on the railing to watch the spectacle, except the Captain and the engineer's crew. Mitch moved into a space beside Jamie at the rail, resting on his elbows, his hip touching hers.   
“Quite a sight, isn't it?”  
Jamie turned to squint up at him. “It's wonderful. The buildings are so different, every color is so brilliant and clear.” Every boat bore a flag, the sailors and fisherman dressed in bright colors and patterns, the sunlight making every look like a glowing jewel, even the water sweeping past the hull seemed a brighter blue. Their progress slowed further to barely a crawl, the crush of boats, large and small increasing the closer they came to docking. The sound of horns hooting, the shouts of cries of fishermen, and vendors plying their wares from small boats bobbing on the water's surface, the sellers holding out examples of their fruit or baked goods, whatever you wanted there was a jolly boat with someone selling it. By the time they reached the dock the water was so covered in boats you could hardly see the water, sailing ships, paddle steamers, clippers, schooners, there was an unending variety of ships of all sizes from many countries, crewed by men of a multitude of nationalities and ethnicities. It was vibrant, noisy, colorful and exotic and Jamie soaked it all in. Mitch watched her face, drinking in her expressions, her youthful exuberance, and enjoyment in the exotic scene being played out at their feet.   
The Watana crew were rushing about getting ready to secure the ship to its mooring, the stevedores on shore waiting to catch the hawsers to tie the ship against the wooden pilings. Everywhere was a hustle and bustle on shore, cargo being loaded and unloaded, cranes on shore and on ships lifting all manner of goods on and off the boats lined up. Coal was being tipped into hods, refueling leaving the workers as black as the coal itself. Jamie could see women threading their way through the throng wearing gaily coloured and striped skirts, baskets on their heads or in their arms, loaded with food and goods, calling out to the sailors and passengers in a mixture of Portuguese and Spanish, a multitude of different voices all vying for attention, adding to the rumble of metal wheels over the cobbles. Porters with carts came to convey baggage from the ships, horses stamped their feet while waiting for bales and crates to be loaded onto their carts. It all melded into one hugely entertaining and enthralling spectacle, one Jamie absorbed with wide eyes and genuine interest.   
A gangplank had been placed for passengers to access the dock, some of Lord Reiden's servants trickling down to take in the sights or purchase from the vendors. Lord Reiden himself was waiting for a delegation from the Portuguese Geographical Society to present themselves, which was expected sometime in the afternoon, so for the time being the morning was free.   
“Ready to get some new clothes?” Mitch turned to face Jamie, smiling broadly.   
“We can go ashore?”  
“We'll be docked here overnight, so we have this morning to explore and get you a wardrobe more suitable for the climate and your elevated status to cabin boy.”  
Jamie chewed her lip, torn between the thrill of going to explore the exotic port, and taking on a debt she couldn't hope to repay. Eventually, she gave in, the chance to walk the historic streets and see some of the buildings and people, was too irresistible. She nodded, and Mitch instantly turned from the rail, indicating for her to follow.   
They made their way down the gangplank, stepping onto foreign soil with the first step on the dock. Instantly they were surrounded by vendors and beggars, all shouting and pushing stuff at them, from luscious looking fruit to trinkets and tobacco. Mitch plowed through, Jamie holding on to his coat to keep up. People swarmed around them, all seemingly knowing where they were going and what they were there to do, the sounds, smells and hubbub quite daunting. She was glad to have Mitch making a path through, her feet in their ill-fitting boots, stumbling after him until the crowd started to thin and he paused to get his bearings. Jamie leaned against a wall to catch her breath.   
“How do you know where we're going? Have you been here before?”  
“Nope. But I talked to one of the crew who gave me some pretty explicit instructions on how to reach the markets. Come on.” He reached for her hand, towing her along beside him, dodging and weaving a path between the throngs of people and carts, carriages and barrows clogging the streets around the port. When Jamie looked back, their ship was lost among the forest of masts of varying heights and smokestacks visible above the heads of the people. All of is against a backdrop of a cloudless blue morning. Mitch was no longer having to tow her through the crowds, so she pulled her hand free, jamming it into her coat pocket, her cap pulled low on her forehead. They were approaching a number of streets and side alleys lined, cheek by jowl with stalls, hawkers promoting their wares and attempting to snag buyers from the people wending their way past. Jamie stared open-mouthed at some of the goods being sold, everything from colorful clothing hung up and fluttering in the breeze coming off the sea, to flashing metal plates and utensils, hanging off poles to catch the sun and the buyer's eye. Mitch made a left turn, tugging Jamie with him, the stalls now brimming with articles of clothing, from shoes to hats to dresses and jackets, all in brilliant colors and heavily embroidered. Mitch ignored them, Jamie itching to have the time to touch and experience the wonderful fabrics on display. Eventually he slowed, asking a couple of men for directions before carrying on, obviously looking for a particular shop.   
“Here we are!” He announced, pulling her into the dim entrance of a shop displaying very normal and English looking items of clothing particularly for men. The fabrics were universally drab cotton in khaki or brown, exactly what you'd expect to wear for an expedition. The shop was narrow but clean and smelt of warm fabric and a subtle cologne. Bolts of cloth were stacked neatly on shelves and a row of hats decorated the upper reaches. There were even pith helmets of differing designs on display. A dapper man in a three-piece, pinstriped navy suit appeared from the back, quickly assessed his customers and smiled broadly.   
“You have come to outfit the young gentleman?”  
“I have indeed.” Jamie found herself pulled forward and her cap whipped off. “We need to create a full wardrobe for Jamie, from underthings to several sets of outerwear, already made if they are available as we sail tomorrow. Also shoes and boots and all the falderal of accessories a young gentleman needs.”  
Jamie was staring back and forth between Mitch and the tailor, looking aghast at the extent of clothing Mitch was proposing. She tugged on his sleeve to get his attention.  
“I don't need all that! I've only had this one suit for months!” she hissed.  
Mitch smiled. “But then you were only an urchin, now you're to be a cabin boy, and they are much smarter dressed.” He turned back to face the tailor, surprising a speculative look on the man's face. Mitch wasn't surprised. Anyone who's business was to dress people, would quickly see through Jamie's inadequate disguise. Only those who didn't care to look would be fooled. The man met Mitch's eyes and nodded his head slightly. It wasn't for him to wonder why a mad Englishman was wanting to dress a pretty girl up as a boy, it only mattered that he was spending his money at this shop. The English were known to be crazy bastards, but generous with their coin.   
“I will take some measurements and see what we have available. If you take a seat, dear sir, I will see to the young man.” He then addressed Jamie. “Take off your jacket, and your boots.”  
Jamie did as he asked, wary of the tailor, but his complete disinterest in her other than as a dress dummy soon put her at ease. He had clapped his hands and a small boy had appeared to take down the measurements as the tailor called them out. When satisfied, the pair of them disappeared and Jamie went to sit down, glancing nervously at Mitch, who lounged back in the chair, his legs crossed at the knee.   
“I think he knows,” she whispered, clutching her cap in her hands and twisting it.   
“So what? He's not about to turn down a lucrative order just because he thinks we're odd.”  
Jamie looked at him, wide-eyed, then turned away.   
At length the man appeared with his attendant, both of them bearing what appeared to be an extraordinary amount of clothing. Jamie was ushered into a changing room, and told to take off her current clothes down to the skin. The shopkeeper never once looked into the changing room, only handed her one article of clothing after another, starting with under clothes and progressing to a dun-colored jacket. All of them fitted her slight frame with little need for adjustments. When she next appeared she instantly looked at Mitch for his approval.   
“Will I do?”  
His eyes roved over her from her crown to her toes, currently lacking any footwear. “Vast improvement.”   
The tailor beamed at his clients, the pretty girl now looking more like a young gentleman of breeding, than the urchin she'd looked like before. Her rags had already been consigned to the backroom fireplace. Why the girl was being put through this charade was a mystery, but the man with her knew her gender, so who was he to judge?  
“I have a range of footwear, so if you will sit, we'll try some on.”  
Jamie sat on the chair again and extended her feet for the man to assess their size against the footwear he had in stock. In the end, they only found one pair that was a close fit, the rest too big for her slender feet. “I thought this might be a problem. You will have to go to a friend of mine for boots. He has a greater selection than my own. I will have the rest of the outfits put into a bundle for you to take.” He held out a slip of paper to Mitch, who read it and reached into his waistcoat for his wallet. The man had written the total in English pounds and Mitch was grateful not to have to work out the conversion between Portuguese currency and what he had on him. While he counted out the requisite amount, Jamie was posing in a purely feminine way in front of a long mirror, tugging and twisting to see how the new, clean and comfortable clothes fit. Both men turned to regard her and both smiled the same smile.  
“She is very beautiful. The clothes cannot hide that forever.”  
Mitch smiled grimly. “No. But it will suffice for now. Thank you for your discretion.”  
The man bowed a little. “Thank you for your business.”   
Mitch accepted the bundle from the assistant and called for Jamie, so they could leave. He had the directions for the footwear and it was time to go. Impulsively, Jamie hugged the tailor and kissed his cheek before tucking her hands into her pockets and sauntering out of the shop, back into her boyish disguise once more.   
They found the stall of the tailor's friend, and also found a pair of boots exactly Jamie's size. A little further along they stopped to buy her a couple of hats at one store that had nothing but Panama Hats of different designs and color variations. Mitch chose a couple for himself, and tried several on Jamie, settling for a rounded crown hat with a broad brim to protect her face from the sun and give her the deepest shade to further obfuscate her gender.   
“It's light enough not to feel heavy, ventilated so your head won't overheat, and keeps the worst of the sun off your face and neck. You'll be glad of those when we are under the African sun.” He purchased several for himself and Lord Reiden, as well as a couple for her. Jamie held on to her bundle of clothes and new boots to free up Mitch's hands to carry the hats. They then stopped at a luggage vendor, Jamie asking the inevitable question. “Why?”  
“What do you intend to put all your new clothes and accouterments into, a paper bag?” he retorted.  
They looked over the assorted sizes, the stock a mixture of brand new and used bags and trunks, cases and hat boxes. Mitch chose a smallish trunk that was a little battered but looked like the sort of thing a junior member of the servant class might own. He indicated the trunk and the vendor handed it down from where it had been hanging.   
“Put your stuff in that and we'll get someone to barrow it for us.” Mitch looked around and saw, as expected a small crowd of barrow boys loitering, waiting for a job. He signaled and one of the boys raced over, his rickety but gaily colored barrow ready to take their purchases. After a short haggle, they loaded their goods onto the trolley and the boy trotted behind them.  
Jamie was thirsty, looking longingly at the small stalls selling food and drink. Mitch must of read her mind because he stopped at one and paid for three glasses of fruit juice, including the barrow boy in his purchase. The lad was surprised, but quickly swallowed down the largesse, as did Jamie, the juice cool and delicious on her tongue. They lingered at the stall to finish their drinks, then walked a short distance to a bakery table, purchasing several tasty looking savories and sweets, Mitch buying a large current filled bun for their baggage handler. This won the boy over and he stuck by their side, abandoning any thought of stealing from the pale-faced Anglo's. Another stall was selling personal grooming items and Mitch added a hairbrush, clothes brush, boot kit and oral kit with brush and powder, putting them all into the new trunk.  
Mitch drew his companions back towards the docks, stopping just the once at a small stall, asking Jamie and the boy to wait while he made a purchase. Jamie found some shade and crouched down, fanning herself with her new hat, the trolley boy doing the same. He gabbled at her, but she could only shake her head, not understanding. Mitch finally returned, tucking something into the inside of his jacket pocket.  
Soon enough they were back at the port, a hive of activity as one ship prepared to leave and another disgorged its passengers having just arrived. Once more Jamie held on to Mitch's coat tails to prevent being left behind, the barrow boy close behind her. At the gangplank, a member of the crew came down to help with the new luggage, hoisting it easily on his shoulders and walking up the plant onto the ship. Jamie went next, hanging onto the ropes either side, the ship riding high in the water and making the short walk steep and slippery. Mitch was finishing paying the trolley boy who ran off soon after with a wide grin at a goods days work with just one customer. Jamie was halfway across and turned to take a last look over her shoulder, distracted she lost her footing on the plank, her new shoes having no grip on the wet timbers. She slipped and went down, only her hand on the rope stopping her pitching into the narrow gap between ship and dock. She hung for a moment, then a strong arm wrapped around her middle and hauled her back onto her feet. Mitch held her until she found her feet again, her heart hammering from her near disaster. She grasped the rope rails and hauled herself onboard the ship, her legs shaking as she tried to calm herself. One of the crew handed her back her hat, which she'd dropped onto the deck while she bent over, hands on knees, to regain her breath.   
“Thank you,” she said, remembering to lower her voice and roughen it. Taking the hat, she jammed it on her head and stood up. Mitch was instructing the crew member where to take the trunk, as well as handing over the other parcels and purchases. His hand gripped her arm and drew her over to the rail to better assess her condition. He leaned down to look at her face under the brim of her new hat.  
“Breath slowly and tell me if you feel faint.”  
“I'm fine, really. Thank you for catching me, I don't know what happened.”  
“A swell made the ship rise at the same time you put your foot down, threw you off balance. Not your fault.” He patted her on the shoulder, their situation too public for him to do what he really wanted, which was to hug her close until she stopped shaking. He'd seen her stumble and lose her footing, his heart jumping into his throat, his quick move to catch her around the middle the only thing to save her from a cruel death, crushed between the ship's hull and the unforgiving timbers of the wharf. She looked pale but was already donning her boyish demeanor for the sake of the crew milling about the deck.   
“I'm fine now. I should go an' see about unpackin' me new gear.”  
He didn't hold her back, watching her wend her way across the deck and disappear from sight. Turning back to survey the dock, he waited for his heart to return to its usual regularity after his fright. Being Jamie Campbell's protector was going to turn him grey before the trip was over.


	3. Untethered From Europe

Chapter Three – Untethered From Europe.

Lord Reiden surveyed the youngster holding his new hat between thin fingers. The boy looked a lot better now his clothes were no longer rags and flea-bitten.   
“Vast improvement, Morgan. Vast improvement. And the rags?”  
“Burnt, milord.”  
“Capital. Now you are fit to be seen, boy, how does it feel?”  
Jamie felt a jolt of surprise. She was used to being below invisible to anyone above stairs, but for someone as exalted as Lord Reiden to ask how she 'felt'? Unheard of.  
“Um...very clean, m'lord.”  
Reiden laughed out loud. “Probably smell better too.” He must have seen something of her instant reaction, in a panic at the prospect of him being sniffed by anyone. “So, now you've been made presentable, what are we going to do with you, hmmm?”  
Mitch spoke up. “My valet had to be taken to the local hospital.”  
Reiden looked surprised. “He did? I'm sorry to hear that, good man.”  
“So I'm without anyone to keep my wardrobe and chattels in good heart.”  
“You think the boy can do that?” He looked at Jamie, intercepting a hopeful look. The boy obviously regarded the good doctor as his hero and would do anything to remain in his comfortable berth. Mitch glanced at the boy.  
“I think he has more now to lose and will look after what he has with care, including mine.”  
“I think you are right. Will you look after the doctor's belongings as well as your own?”  
“Give me a chance, m'lord. I'll keep the cabin spick and span, I promise.” Jamie clutched her new hat, wrinkling the edge, as she waited for his decision.  
Reiden finally nodded. “Make it so. Creighton has his nose firmly out of joint, so I don't need the conflict from using the boy myself. Keep him out of my man's way, there's no love lost there.”  
“Will do. If you'll excuse me I'll get the boy settled and show him what needs to be done.”  
Reiden waved them away, Mitch pushing Jamie to get her moving, a final instruction following them out of the room. “And get the boy a haircut!”  
In his own cabin, Mitch let out a breath. Jamie sat down hard on the side of the bunk bed.   
“That went well.”  
Jamie looked up at him. “He seems to still think I'm a boy.”  
“And now you have a reason to be here, so if you keep your head down, take care of the cabin and our bits and pieces, the less likely your disguise will be discovered.”  
Jamie stared down at her linen covered legs, smoothing her fingers over the fine weave. Mitch took in her downturned mouth and sat down in the camp chair.   
“What is it?”  
“I love the new clothes, but I feel so dirty in them. I haven't had a bath since...” she looked up. “I can't remember.”  
“Well, you don't smell bad, so I'm guessing you've been topping and tailing.”  
“Yes, but before I had to be dirty to maintain my disguise. Now, with these nice clean clothes, I can hardly go about covered in muck on my hands and face.”  
“I'm sorry. The only bath they have onboard is a canvas one on the deck, in full view of anyone.”  
He gave her a sympathetic glance. “There was never any provision made for other than an all-male crew and passengers.”  
“Then I'll just have to make do with a bucket and a cloth,” she said, a wistful note in her voice.   
“We can make that happen tonight, for you. Most of the crew will be going ashore to make the most of the last night here in Europe before we start island hopping. Less chance anyone is likely to barge in. I'll check with Reiden when he's expecting his cronies from the Geographical, and we'll organize with cook for a bucket of hot water and some towels.”  
“I don't have any soap.”  
“You could share mine.”  
“Then I'll smell like you!”  
Mitch cocked an eyebrow at her. “And that's a problem why?”  
Jamie subsided. “No problem. I guess if I smell like you, it's another layer to my disguise.”  
“Quite. Now, you can start by unpacking all our purchases and rearranging the drawers to accommodate them and my own apparel. Most are in the drawers, but some could be hung up in the cupboard, so see what you can do. Your boots can go in the cupboard beside mine, for the time being.   
He got up and went to the door. “Have fun.” He joked, ducking out and shutting the door behind him. Jamie stuck her tongue out at him, then sighed. 

Several hours later she had their combined collection of clothes and accessories all sorted between the deep drawers under the bunk and the cupboard set into the wall. She had found that the tailor had included two nightshirts in her bundle and she reluctantly gave up Mitch's shirt, putting it in the pile to be laundered. The evening was drawing in and her stomach growled, so she left the cabin to go down to the galley.   
“Well, look at you, my fine young sprig!” The cook greeted her with a wide grin. “Look like a proper toff now.”  
Jamie sat down on a stool and ducked her head. “It's just clothes,” she muttered.  
“You look good enough to eat with the rest of the crew. Here's a plate, go enjoy the company.”  
Jamie took the plate of food and carried it through to the mess, where those not ashore were already gathered. Not all the crew were there at the same time, but enough to look up and stop talking when she walked through the door. She paused and looked for somewhere to sit, seeing an empty side to one table, the other side occupied by a couple of stokers. She sidled onto the bench and put her plate down.   
“Well, well, looks like the stable boy is climbing the social ladder, boys!” Creighton's hated voice came from behind, but she just hunched her shoulders and concentrated on her plate. Creighton didn't let up his mocking.  
“That's a fancy suit for shoveling shit in the stables, boy. Or maybe it's payment for other services...” he let the sentence hang. Jamie felt the blood rush to her ears, staining them crimson with her embarrassment. She manfully ignored the sniggers and laughter, keeping on shoveling the stew into her mouth and chewing. Someone came up behind her and cuffed her on the back of the head, the blow hitting precisely where her bump had been only a few days ago, making her wince in pain.   
“Is that what you are now, boy?”  
“I dunno whatcha mean?” she protested, cringing out of reach. Creighton didn't go away.   
“I mean, boy, that maybe they've found a use for your pretty arse. Is that what you are now? A molly for the doctor? Is that how you earned a new suit?” His hand was now gripping the short strands of her hair and twisting, making tears spring to her eyes.   
“Leave the lad alone,” one of the stoker's protested. Creighton simply twisted harder, taking his spite out on an easy target.   
“Be careful you don't find this little maggot sneaking into your bed for a shag. He's an expensive fuck. Are you a good fuck, boy?” Jamie was holding her head to try and relieve his grip, grimacing, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain and tears, her body folding in on itself. Suddenly she was let go, his hand gone from her hair, her head nearly banging against the table top she'd been pulling away so hard.   
“Leave the tyke alone, Creighton, go find someone you're own size to pick on.” The cook had entered the mess, unseen by anyone else. He was brandishing a giant cleaver, the valet backing away from his victim and returning to his own table in the face of such threatening support.   
Jamie used the pause in the drama to launch herself away from the table and run, darting past the broad cook and back along the corridor towards the sleeping cabins.   
Once inside the cabin she squeezed herself into the furthest corner of the top bunk, hiding herself in the shadows, her knees pulled up against her chest, shaking uncontrollably. 

Mitch had gone ashore with Lord Reiden and the members of the Geographic Society to be hosted at a special dinner, so he didn't return to the ship until late. Opening the door to his cabin, he found the room in darkness. Leaving the door open to allow the light from outside to flood in, he looked at the top bunk, but the covers were untouched, the pillow undented. The bottom bunk was the same, not even a wrinkle on the surface. Surprised, he pulled on his bottom lip as he thought about where she'd be this late at night. The only place he could think of was with the horses. Closing the cabin door he made his way to the hold, finding the groom snoring loudly on a couple of hay bales covered in a blanket. He checked the horses who were dozing, no sign of Jamie in any of the loose boxes or anywhere in the hold. Making his way back up to the cabins, he stopped into the galley to ask the cook if he'd seen Jamie. The man was sitting at his small countertop, a glass and bottle at his elbow. He made to get up but Mitch waved him down.   
“I know why you're here,” the cook said, giving Mitch a broad wink. “You're looking for the sprout.”  
“I am. What happened?”  
The cook let out a gusty sigh. “That snooty valet decided to have a little fun.”  
Mitch felt his blood start to rise. “Didn't anyone step in?”  
The cook reared back. “Of course. Took my biggest cleaver and told the bastard to lay off the whelp.”  
“Thank you for that. What happened then?”  
The cook shrugged. “Kid took off, scuttled out of here like a rat up a drain pipe.”  
Mitch ground his teeth. “Where did he go, do you know?”  
“Wouldn't have a clue, guvnor. Most probably found a bolt hole to hide in, if I know boys at all.” the man gave Mitch a squinting look. “Of course, I know nowt about what a lassy would do.”  
Mitch froze, then narrowed his eyes at the cook. “Who said anything about a girl on board.”  
The cook lifted up his drink and toasted his visitor. “I know nothing about nobody.” The man tapped the side of his nose before taking a gulp of the contents of his glass.   
Mitch stared at him for a moment, then left the galley, his blood boiling. So now the cook knew.  
Dammit, this was turning into a farce. If he wasn't sure that the girl would be put off the boat, he'd plead her cause to Reiden, but there really was no place for a woman on the expedition, so the farce would have to continue. For now, he had to find her hiding place. Moving around the boat, he checked the forecastle, trying to appear as if he was only taking a late night walk before preparing for bed. He looked everywhere he could think of, then when that produced nothing, he thought about going ashore, in case she'd run away, but given how late it was, the last place anyone wanted to be was trying to find a lost child in the dark, dangerous corners of the port. If she had gone to ground off the ship, he would have to wait until morning to search for her. The ship was due to sail around eight the following morning, so he'd have only a brief window to search for her.   
Worried and angry, he went back to his cabin and went in, shutting the door a little harder than usual behind him. The sound of movement in the cabin made him reach for the light switch. In the glare of the light fitting, he thought he saw something move in the dark corner of the top bunk.   
“Jamie?” he called her name softly, approaching the ladder and climbing up. Sure enough, she was huddled in the darkest corner, folded into herself, as small a target as possible. “Ah, Jamie girl, what happened?” He pulled himself onto the bunk, sitting cross-legged with just enough room, his head brushing the ceiling. Jamie had her face turned away from him, but he saw her shoulders moving and he presumed she was either shaking or crying. The naked light caught the gold in her hair, the spikes sticking up more prominently than usual. It reminded him the Reiden had told him to get the boy a decent haircut, the idle thought also bringing up the bath she was going to take. As she appeared to be still wearing the clothes he'd last seen her in, she'd not bathed.  
“It's late, don't you think you should get ready for bed?” He tried, but she only shook her head. Something that wretch Creighton must have done or said to her had made her hide up here away from the light. A dozen scenarios zipped through his mind, but he ignored them, preferring to wait until she told him what happened.   
“Cook told me something of what happened in the mess. Did Creighton hurt you?” His question was rewarded with a slight nod. “I'm sorry he did that.” He didn't push her, just sat on the bed and waited for her to uncurl, a little like a hedgehog, her prickles all facing outward. Mitch was starting to feel the effects of his heavy meal and several glasses of wine, his eyes feeling gritty and his head a little woolly. Taking off his spectacles, he rubbed at his eyes, then yawned. He then pulled off one shoe, then the other, leaving on his socks for the time being. He dropped the shoes to the floor where they landed with a dull thump. Leaning back against the headboard, he worked to loosen his collar, undoing the button that held it attached to the shirt. That soon followed the shoes and fluttered to the floor, quickly followed by his cravat. More comfortable, he leaned back against the wall, lifting the pillows to support his back and soften the hard planks. Weary, he closed his eyes for a moment after tucking his glasses into an inside pocket of his coat.   
“I'm not sleeping, I'm just a little tired. When you're ready to tell me what happened, I'll be here.” He tried, truly, to stay awake, but his body was ready for bed and before long he'd dozed off.

Jamie watched him, not relaxing her tense posture and keeping her face turned away from the light. He was blocking her access to the ladder to go down, his long body now stretched out on the covers, propped up partially by the pillows. She felt cramped and uncomfortable, wedged into the corner and so tightly furled, so she let her legs straighten out and lifted her head to rest it against the wall. If anyone was to come it at that moment and see them, the pair of them, sharing the top bunk, all their worst assessment of her character would be confirmed, never mind that she and Mitch were still fully clothed and at opposite ends of the bed, they would think the worst and then there'd be hell to pay. Creighton had made the foulest connotations of Mitch's kindness and protection, revenge, she supposed, for the ear pulling incident with Mitch threatening Creighton with Lord Reiden finding out about the man's bullying. Now the crew would look at her and think her a rent boy or a molly, a plaything used by Mitch for his sexual gratification. It was so far from the truth it was laughable. Mitch had behaved like a perfect gentleman, taking care not to offend her or put her to the blush, and protecting her secret, which, if found out, could come at some cost to him in regards his position with Lord Reiden. What a mess. 

Mitch woke abruptly from his sleep, the room still lit, the room chilled in the small hours of the night. He wondered what had woken him, then a sound came from the end of the bed and he realized that Jamie was dreaming, not very nice dreams if the moans were any indication. He blinked and sat up, his body telling him he needed to visit the head, the volume of wine he'd drunk catching up with him. Careful not to jostle the girl sleeping restlessly at the end of the bunk, he dropped to the floor and put his shoes and glasses on before leaving the room to visit the toilet at the end of the corridor and a level down. Having seen to his business, he splashed water on his face and washed his mouth to get rid of the stale taste of wine and garlic. That done he returned to his room. Jamie was still stuffed into the corner, leaning against the wall, looking uncomfortable to his mind. Making a decision, he slid the bolt across, effectively locking the cabin door. He switched off the light and waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, while he waited he sat on the bottom bunk and took off his shoes, once more tucking his glasses into an inner pocket to keep them safe. That all done he climbed the ladder up to the top bunk but stayed on his hands and knees and approached the girl hunched uncomfortably into the far corner. She was fast asleep, no longer whimpering, her dreams moved on from what was upsetting her. Taking care, he gathered her into his arms and lifted her enough to move her up to the head of the bed. When he made to lay her down, her hands came up and latched onto his jacket lapels, gripping them tightly with her fingers, her head now tucked under his chin. It was probably because he was warm that she snuggled closely, but it put him in a pickle. With a bit of judicious positioning, he was able to turn on his side, still holding her against his chest, but enough so he wouldn't fall off the side the bunk just wide enough for them both to lay close together. Jamie was a slight armful, his arms easily surrounding her, hugging her close. Mitch lay there, staring into the darkness, wondering how fate had thrown this childlike woman into his path and what was he going to do about it. Soon they would be landing in Africa, and what was he to do then? She said she was onboard to pursue an article on the expedition, that she was a journalist, but there was no proof of notebooks or anything associated with being a reporter to substantiate this. So why was she here?  
In mid thought he fell asleep, Jamie cuddled up close to him as if she'd been doing that for years. 

When she awoke the next morning, Jamie found herself stretched out, under the covers of the top bunk, still wearing her new suit from the previous day. The ship was underway and she scrambled out of bed, not wanting to miss their leavetaking of Lisbon. Pushing her feet into her shoes, she raced out of the room, down the passageway to the exterior door, exiting onto the covered deck that surrounded the second story cabins. Lord Reiden was there, along with the photographer, and Mitch. At her precipitous arrival, she was hailed by Reiden.  
“Here's the boy! Nearly missed it all, my lad.”  
Jamie approached the railing, making attempts to smooth down her short, unruly, sleep-tousled hair. They were already a substantial way away from the wharf, the water churned up by their screw propeller as the ship slowly pulled away, further and further from shore. They would have to weave their way through the ships waiting to berth and fill the gap they left. The horses hadn't been granted leave on shore, but they weren't suffering, still eating and drinking well, according to the grooms taking care of them. For now, they were on a trip past the sound of Portugal, bypassing the Gibralter straits, sailing west from the coast of Morocco to dock at Funchal, the capital of the Madeira Islands, a trip of a few days at most. After the island, they would be heading south to the equator, stopping at the Canary islands, again at Cape Verde with a stop at Freetown in Sierra Leone to refuel. Then they would continue towards the equator itself, with stops at Accra, then across over the Gulf of Guinea, passing Liberia and the Ivory Coast before stopping to take on water and supplies at Sao Tome, before making for their final destination of Boma on the Congo River a couple of days after that.   
There was plenty of sailing ahead for the passengers and crew of the Watana, but for now, they took their leave of Lisbon with its white buildings and red rooves, polyglot of people and colorful spectacle. Soon the throng of vessels started to thin, the smaller craft remaining closer to land, the Watana picking up speed as the Tagus River widened and shipping spread out, all heading for their own destinations. When they passed the tiny fortified island at the center of the channel, with its Bugio Tower, they knew they were on the brink of being engulfed by the Atlantic Ocean once more. They sailed close enough that Jamie could see tiny figures posted around the circular fortifications and she waved, not expecting them to notice. None did and she watched the landmark fade into the distance. Everyone who had started that morning watching from the balcony were gone, leaving her to farewell Portugal on her own. She was hungry and thirsty, but loathe to leave the relative isolation of the deck and go down to face Mitch in the cabin. He would want to know what had happened last night, and she wasn't sure what she could tell him that wasn't likely to provoke a strong reaction in the man. He counted himself her protector, and to find out she'd been roughly abused and insulted by the valet would likely bring the whole sordid episode to Lord Reiden's attention, something she wanted to avoid at all cost. The less that man noticed her the better.  
Her stomach growled loudly and she couldn't put it off any longer. With dragging steps she went through the door into the corridor then halted. Creighton was just exiting Lord Reiden's room, the man spotting Jamie and instantly grinning, like a wolf that had just seen its next meal. Jamie shrank back against the slatted door, her knees knocking as she awaited her fate. Creighton looked around, checking for anyone likely to hear her cries, then put the tray he'd been carrying on the floor, but not before picking up a cutthroat razor he'd just used on his lordship for his shave and brandishing in front of him.  
“So, nipper, I'm told you need a haircut. Just so happens I was a barber in a former life, so don't you run away and ol' Creighton will give you a haircut you won't ever forget.”

Mitch was down in the hold with the horses when he heard the scream. Knowing there was only one person likely to produce such a sound and why, he sprinted out of the hold, up the ladders and stairs onto the deck. Most of the crew were looking up towards the source of the cry, curious as to what was happening. Mitch clawed his way up to the second floor and pulled open the door leading inside. A body fell at his feet, curled up, hands cut and bleeding trying to protect a head already cut about and raggedly shorn of hair. Creighton looked up, apparently so caught up in his work he never thought that the boy's scream would attract attention. That was his mistake. Lord Reiden came out in time to see Mitch catch a fist under his valet's chin that lifted the man off the floorboards and send him crashing against the wall. The blade the man had been wielding on the boy flew through the air and landed at Reiden's feet, still covered in Jamie's blood and hair.   
Mitch was bent over pummeling and kicking the man and Reiden went forward to separate them.   
“Enough, Morgan, you'll kill the man. Step back!” Behind Reiden the photographer was taking notes, recording the scene from the boy curled up on the deck, covered in blood, to the valet cringing against the paneling, his face swollen and bloody. Mitch stood there, fists still clenched, breathing heavily.   
“You've done enough, man. See to the boy.”  
Recalled to the reason he'd been trouncing the valet, Mitch turned to where Jamie lay on the boards, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands still clutching at her abused head, blood coating everything. He knelt down and reached out to touch her, but at the first sign of a hand, she shrieked and scrabbled away.   
“It's alright, boy it's me, Doctor Morgan, you're safe now, he won't touch you again.”   
While Mitch dealt with Jamie, two hefty stokers came up to take charge of the valet, taking the man to the ship's equivalent of a brig, a sturdy storage room.   
Mitch had tried to break through Jamie's fugue but eventually had to just pick her up, ignoring her whimpers and moans and carry her to his cabin to assess her injuries. Reiden had followed, watching as Mitch placed the boy on the bottom bunk, the youngster laying there with his back to the room, the slashes and cuts over her head still bleeding sluggishly.   
“I never imagined the man would be so...he's been my valet for years and I've never heard of any occasion...” Lord Reiden shook his head, unable to comprehend how the man who'd been his personal body servant could hide such a vindictive streak.  
“The boy will survive, m'lord. His hair will grow back in time, but I'm concerned about his mental recovery from this attack.”  
“Poor brat, what a disturbing thing to happen, to anyone. Take care of the lad, Dr. Morgan, this has been a bad business.” Shaking his head Reiden left the cabin, leaving Mitch to deal with the situation. Mitch went to the cupboard and rummaged at the bottom, pulling out his doctor's bag with its medicines and equipment used to heal animals and people, when necessary. He knelt on the floor beside the bed with a small bowl with warm water and cloths. After washing his hands at the sink with carbolic soap, he adding a measure of whiskey to the bowl to help clean the cuts and prevent sepsis taking hold while they healed.  
Jamie lay inert on the bed, her back to the room, in a state of shock.   
“Sweetheart, I'm going to roll you onto your back and start cleaning you up, alright?” Mitch waited, but Jamie didn't respond, nor did she fight him when he gently rolled her over so she faced out into the room, her hands also needing attention.   
He could see that she'd tried to defend herself by the way the wounds were placed, as if she'd held her hands and arms over her head, to fend off her attacker. He cleaned them first, wiping away the blood to see how deep they were and if they needed stitches. They didn't but he still cleaned them thoroughly then bandaged them before turning his attention to her face and head.   
“Just close your eyes, dear girl, and I'll have you looking beautiful in no time.”  
Jamie did as instructed and closed her eyes, not flinching as he worked to see what had been done under the deceptively bloody mask. She had a few cuts on her face, but most were up near her hairline, her poor hair hacked about in a savage manner, several deep guts still oozing. He got a towel and placed it under her head, then sponged off the dried blood, taking care not to aggravate the cuts forming scabs. None would need stitching, but they all looked painful and her hair was now cut to the scalp in places. She was lucky the crazed valet hadn't tried to remove the skin along with the hair. Jamie allowed him to lift and turn her head as he washed her head and sponged the blood from what remained of her red-gold hair. All the time he murmured to her, telling her what he was doing, calling her beautiful and brave, courageous and plucky, all designed to take the sting out of what he was doing and distract her from the discomfort of her condition. Her new suit, already crumpled from being slept in, was now liberally smeared and splattered with blood.   
“This needs to come off now, dearest, it will need to be washed.” Mitch continued to work, first bandaging her head after dressing the worst of the wounds, then taking off her new suit of clothes down to her underwear, before redressing her in a clean nightshirt, the material still a little stiff with the finishing starch used to make it look crisp and bright.   
Jamie's complexion was barely more colorful than her nightshirt, her eyes looking huge in her pinched face. Mitch replaced the pillow that was now bloodstained, with another off the top bunk, covering it with another towel in case she bled through the bandages.   
“All done now, precious girl, so you can sleep for a little bit. I'll go get you some hot tea to help keep the chill at bay, but for now, rest and know that you are safe.” He pulled the covers up to her shoulders, and she promptly turned over to present her back to him and the world. Giving her shoulder a squeeze, he got up and cleared away his traps, tipping the blood-stained water into the sink and using the rinsed out washcloth to clean out the bowl and wipe out the sink. He packed the bits and pieces back into his medical bag but left it out, just in case one of its contents were needed later.   
A knock at the door was followed by the man from the geographic society putting his head around the door. Mitch stood up from beside his bag and walked towards the photographer, who was staring at the bandaged figure under the covers.   
“How is the boy?” the man asked. Mitch motioned for him to move back into the corridor, following him through the door and pulling it closed behind him.  
“He'll recover,” Mitch replied, tersely.  
“What a wretched thing to happen to the child. He must be traumatized!”  
Mitch smiled grimly. “To say the least, the bastard nearly scalped the boy.”  
“Good lord. Well...hmmm, a sorry business. Do you know what provoked the man's behavior?”  
“Not a clue. Possibly he felt threatened by the boy, but who knows? I'm going to get some tea from the galley if you'd like to follow along?” The man nodded and followed Mitch to the rear stairs leading to the lower deck. 

Jamie stared at the back wall of the bunk, her brain replaying over and over the attack, her bandaged hands reaching up so her fingertips could brush over her wrapped head, pressing on the linen to feel where the deeper gashes were hidden. She felt numb, while at the same time her nerves jumped about under her skin, making her twitch and jerk in response to noises from beyond the cabin. She daren't close her eyes otherwise that man was there, slashing at her like a maniac, grinning as he wielded the razor, cutting her hands when she tried to defend herself, only to grab at her short hair to hold her still and slice away at her scalp. She shuddered and moaned as the memory of the look in his eyes and smell of his breath washed over her. Her ears had been filled with the man ranting at her, cursing her and laughing as she tried to escape. Eventually, she had no recourse but to scream to get someone to rescue her from the valet. She was sure he was going to cut her throat after he finished with her hair. The corner she'd been held in had suddenly been flung open, Jamie tumbling backward, the person coming through the door stepping over her and forcing the valet to back away. She wasn't sure what happened next, only that someone touched her and she thought it was Creighton back to finish what he started, prompting her into screaming her fear and clutching her head. Then she was hoisted into the air and carried away, her thoughts and senses shut down until she came back to the present to find herself laying on the bottom bunk, Mitch cleaning and bandaging her hands, then her head, even undressing her down to her new vest and drawers, then putting one of the new nightshirts over her head, dressing her like a parent with a child. She didn't care how it looked, she just wanted to hide in the dark and nurse her hurts, so she didn't protest, just waited to be tucked under the covers then turned her back on the room. 

When Mitch returned to the cabin with a tray, her body had taken control and sent her into a trouble, healing sleep which he didn't disturb, understanding that rest was what her body and brain needed most to recover from the attack. He settled himself in the camp chair after setting up the small camp table that he'd brought up from the supplies in the hold, setting the tea tray down on that for ease of access and pouring. He'd reported Jamie's condition to Lord Reiden after organizing the cook to create a tea tray for the patient, leaving the man to boil the kettle while Mitch visited Lord Reiden, who was down with his horses at that time of day. Reiden, and Mr. Black, who had followed along, both winced when they heard the extent of the boy's injuries, shaking their heads and tutting over the callous and cowardly nature of the attack. They discussed briefly what would be done with Creighton, Reiden giving a token protest that the man was an excellent valet but not suggesting that the man be let off so easily. They would make landfall at Funchal within days, and it was proposed to hand the man over into the custody of the local authorities for them to put Creighton on the first boat back to Blighty, under guard with affidavits from those that came upon the scene and the injuries sustained, all to be handed over to the British authorities when the ship, whichever it was, docked in England. With that, Creighton's fate was decided. Lord Reiden, accompanied by the photographer, went to inform the valet of the decision, Mitch making his excuses that he needed to check on his patient. His real reason was he didn't trust himself in Creighton's presence after seeing what the man had done to Jamie. Given half a chance he'd resume the beating he'd started before Reiden told him to stop. His hands still twitched to do so. 

Leaving the hold after collecting the folding table, he went back up to the galley and collected the tray, thanking the cook, who asked after the boy with genuine concern, and carrying it all up to his cabin. Finding Jamie asleep made him pause, Mitch deciding to keep watch instead, settling himself comfortably in the camp chair and availing himself of the hot, fragrant tea. He'd get a fresh pot for her later. Opening up his neglected book, he started to read from where he'd left off, the minutes passing into hours as the day slid by and the boat plowed onwards to the Madeira islands. 

Jamie flatly refused to leave her bed. She accepted the tray Mitch brought for her, drinking all the tea and eating the food prepared by the cook, but other than to visit the toilet at the end of the corridor, she wouldn't venture any further. She also wouldn't open up and talk about the attack. Mitch left her to brood, for the time being, knowing that eventually, she would need to talk about it and expunge the fear that was currently crippling her. 

Twenty-four hours later and the archipelago came into view on the horizon, a dark smudge getting bigger as daylight flourished and the sun rose, along with the temperature. The Watana sailed right past the first island of Porto Santo, heading for the main island, Madere and its capital on the southern coast, Funchal. Mitch managed to tempt Jamie out onto the balcony for a short time, her white-clad figure stared at by the crew, her nightshirt emphasizing her slender frame, her bandaged head eliciting a lot of sympathy for the lad. Her hands were healing quickly, the cuts only superficial despite the number, Mitch only keeping them covered to prevent flies from landing on the wounds. After her brief sojourn on the balcony, he was able to coax her to take the same in the afternoon, Jamie not lingering but appreciating the warmth of the sun on her face and the fresh air.  
When they reached Funchal, she flatly refused to stir from her bed until it was confirmed that Creighton had left the ship and been taken into custody. She missed seeing the exotic scenery on approach to the capital, the rising volcanic hills behind the town, and didn't see the clouds of brightly colored birds or the towering palm trees.   
Mitch watched the man, Creighton, being handed over to the authorities on the dock, the former valet looking up at the ship as if to see his victim and have a last dig at the boy, but Jamie would not get up, in fact, would prefer to miss the tropical islands altogether if it meant she didn't have to face the man who had so abused her. Once Creighton was put into the back of a cart, now in chains to await passage on a ship back to England, Mitch turned away from the rail and went down to the galley. Clouds of steam greeted his arrival into the cook's domain, the man adding to the miasma with his pipe sending out gusts of smoke as he labored over a pot. Despite the fog, the man saw Mitch and turned to face him.   
“Come for a breakfast tray?” he asked.   
“Something to tempt him out of his bed and back to his old self.”  
The cook let out a bray of laughter. “That'll take more than my meager efforts to do that, me lad. But for now, let's see what some good wholesome food can do to lift his spirits.”  
The tray was laden with a fresh pot of tea, toasted bread, creamy butter, a small pot of honey, and slices of bacon on the side. Mitch thanked the cook and carried it up to the second floor. Pushing open the door he saw that Jamie hadn't moved since the last time he'd checked in on her. Now the sun was high in the sky and it was time she left her bed. Kicking the door shut with a bang, he was pleased to see her shoulders jerk, indicating she wasn't asleep, just avoiding.  
“Time to get up, Jamie. Time to rejoin the world and stop hiding.” He placed the tray on the small folding table and sat down in the chair. He let the smell of the bacon and toast fill the small space, his own stomach indicating it wouldn't mind a second breakfast if offered. Like a turtle emerging from its shell, Jamie pushed the covers down and sat up, turning to face the room and its occupant, swinging her feet down to meet the floor. Instead of the bare boards, her sockless feet encountered a thick, brightly striped rug. When she looked down in surprise, Mitch chuckled.   
“You have an admirer. That was their gift to you.”  
Jamie looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Who sent it?”  
“I have no idea, it's a secret admirer.”  
Jamie tilted her bandaged head to one side. “It was you, wasn't it?”  
Mitch shook his head. “Not at all, it was left outside my door, rolled up with a note to make sure you got the use of it.”  
Jamie looked down and dug her toes into the lush pile. “It's lovely.”  
Mitch leaned forward. “Let's get those wrappings off your hand and then you can tuck into your breakfast, although it's nearly lunchtime now. We'll call it brunch, instead.”  
Jamie held out her hands and he carefully unwound the bandaging, checking the cuts for any sign of infection. When satisfied they were clean with no sign of swelling or pus, he put the fabric lengths aside for washing, then ran a sink full of warm water and placed the carbolic soap on the side for her to use. “Wash up, then you can eat.”  
Jamie frowned, but got up and was glad to soak her hands in the warm water and get them clean. He was treating her like an infant again, a situation that rankled, but if she was fair, she had been behaving rather like a child in her refusal to leave her bed. When she was drying her hands on the towel he handed her she turned to face him.   
“Thank you for looking after me. I know I've been a trial...for everyone, but I do appreciate what you've done for me.”  
Mitch smiled at her earnest expression. “It's been my pleasure. Now sit, and eat. Today, we leave the cabin and go see the horses.”

Jamie ate the contents of the plate and drank all the tea, her appetite keen despite her worries. That done, she asked Mitch to turn his back before changing out of her night attire and into her second set of day wear, the first still waiting to be laundered. Her bandages on her head had to stay on for at least a couple more days, so she donned her hat instead and pulled it down to shade her face.   
“You can turn around now,” she announced, tugging at her khaki jacket.  
Mitch did so and grinned, Jamie returning his smile with a scowl. He let the grin fade and got up out of the camp chair. “We might as well start by taking all this laundry on to the deck for washing. I know you're supposed to be responsible for this, but I'm sure one of the crew would be happy to do it until your hands heal fully.” So saying, he pushed the clothes, washcloths and bandaging into the bloodstained pillowcase and slung it over his shoulder. Jamie didn't argue, her hands were still tender.

They returned the tray to the kitchen first, Jamie thanking the cook for her breakfast, the man grinning at her. “You are most welcome, young'un. Glad to see the roses are coming back into  
your cheeks.” He saw the laundry bag and reached for it. “Give that to me, sir. I'll be boiling up a kettle as we're docked and I have all the fresh water free to use. Have them clean in no time.”  
Mitch handed over the pillowcase, the cook tutting at the bloodstains, well aware of where they'd come from and who had been bleeding.  
Mitch, with Jamie following, went down the steps and ladders to the hold, the deck covers usually enclosing the hold taken off and allowing sunlight to stream down into the looseboxes, as well as lots of fresh sea air to alleviate the stench of manure. The grooms had already carried the manure collected in the last few days and had it taken off the ship by a midden cart, along with the dirty straw. The horses were untethered to give them room to move about and Mitch produced some cubes of bread to give to each animal as they inspected them. The animals were always glad of visitors, nickering and fluffing over Jamie and Mitch with their rubbery, bewhiskered lips and teeth. They were obviously not suffering from being confined, but Mitch would only be happy once the animals were back on firm ground and given space to exercise. In the meantime, their biggest problem was not overfeeding the animals and letting them grow fat. They spent an hour with the horses before returning up the stairs to the main deck to watch the bustle of life on the shore. Once more the hustle and exotic excitement of life ashore absorbed Jamie's attention. She goggled at the tall palm trees, the larger proportion of darker faces on view, the distant, jagged volcanic heights looking vaguely ominous, even though they had been dormant for thousands of years. Like Lisbon, there were plenty of ships in the harbor, both large and small. Some were loading or unloading at the dockside, while others waited their turn or simply anchored out of the way, the painters carrying passengers to shore. The hills that acted as a backdrop, were dotted with white houses with their red, terracotta rooves, so common in that part of the world, a faint echo of Lisbon and it's impressive mixture of Spanish and Portuguese buildings.  
They were only staying for the short time it took to top up on water and fresh produce before they sailed with the tide, so there was no time to go explore the markets. Jamie was glad to be out in the fresh air and sunshine, also glad of her new hat to shield her face from the curious crew and onlookers from the shore. Several colorfully dressed women approached the quayside and started to wave and shout up to anyone leaning on the rail. Their language was mostly Portuguese, but in amongst the words were a smattering of English, enough for Mitch to hope that Jamie didn't understand the cant expressions for the sexual favors the women were offering for a price.   
She was staring at the strange geography of the town and harbor, at the distant islands offshore shrouded in mist and the rugged cliffs framing the eastern end of the bay, the earth and rocks a dark red. Here and there, among the distant houses were splashes of brilliant hues from a plant called a Bougainvillea, a spiny aggressive vine whose spring leaves formed a mass of intense color around the flowers in shades of red or purple, a sharp contrast to the white buildings and their brick red rooves.   
The women passed along, much to Mitch's relief, the throng of people swelling and ebbing as ships berthing disgorged their passengers and freight, or took on supplies and fuel.   
“Will Africa be like this?” Jamie asked turning her head to look up at him from under the brim of her hat.   
“On the coast, probably. But hotter.”  
“Are we going to cross the equator?”  
Mitch nodded. “We will. But first, we'll be sailing to the Canary Islands for a quick stopover before heading south to another island among an archipelago called the Cape Verde Islands.”  
“Have you ever traveled this way before?”  
“Nope. All new to me as it is to you.”  
“Don't you wish you could get off and explore?”  
“Of course,” Mitch laughed. “There is so much to see in these places, but if we stayed and didn't move on, not only would we never reach our destination but it would cost our patron several fortunes to achieve.”  
“Oh. I guess it does cost a lot to keep refueling the ship and pay for supplies.” Even as she spoke, several of the crew were carrying hay bales onto the ship, then standing by the entry into the hold to lower them down to waiting hands below. They watched the crew work like well-oiled cogs, getting the new supplies onboard to catch the tide. Before long the bell was ringing to alert any crew to get aboard post haste, then the gangplank was lifted and the hawsers let go. With the ease of long practice, the Captain piloted the ship out of the dock and headed for open water, weaving a path between the ships still waiting to dock. Jamie stayed on deck for a long time, watching the islands vanish in the haze of distance, the sky eventually turning dark after a spectacularly colorful sunset where she swore the horizon flashed green at the moment the sun disappeared. Mitch laughed at her when she told him, but she didn't take offense. She spent the evening alone, Mitch having been summoned by Reiden to give an account of the day's happenings aboard ship, much as he was want to do when at home on his estate. They also discussed their next stop, and future places the ship would put into, their goal of reaching the River Congo getting closer with every hour.   
Jamie finally got her wish to bathe when Mitch asked the cook to have two large buckets of hot water taken up to his cabin, along with some towels and any soap, other than carbolic, that the man had in his stores. Being in on the secret of the gender of the boy, the cook refrained from sending a heavily scented floral soap, keeping that for when the girl was back to being a female. Instead, he sent a block of soap that smelled strongly of sandalwood, pleasant and aromatic, but manly enough to fool anyone foolish enough to get close enough to sniff. After seeing the results of the fight between Creighton and Morgan, there were few that dared to approach the boy, let alone mock or make rude suggestions. Most felt sorry for the lad, his bandaged head visible despite the hat worn whenever he was outside, also many of them had seen the state of the clothes before they'd been washed and hung on a line, the blood stains more eloquent than words. The photographer had been responsible for reporting the lad's injuries, garnering a sort of mascot status to the former stowaway, the crew happy to be rid of the valet, and protective of the boy.   
The two steaming buckets, plus a shallow metal oval bucket with handles with accompanying accessories arrived in due time, the burly sailors carrying them into the cabin to be deposited at Jamie's feet with broad grins and winks before the men tramped out and shut the door behind them. With unallowed glee, Jamie tested the temperature of the water, finding it good and hot, as well as sniffed the soap, finding the scent unusual but not unpleasant. Careful to turn the key in the lock and test it, she turned back and made preparations for her sponge bath. First, she set one of the towels on the floor to catch any stray splashes, the tin bath on top of that in which she could stand or crouch, but not quite big enough for her to sit in unless she let her legs hang over the edge. Then she dragged the full buckets over beside it and placed the soap and washcloth on the small folding table within reach. Finally, she draped the dry towels over the camp chair for when she was done.   
Now she peeled off her clothes down to the skin, leaving her with only the bandages on her head. Sitting on the side of the bunk she first unwound the strips of cloth concealing her breasts, then carefully unwound the bandages wrapping her head. It stuck in places but she persevered, checking in the mirror she wasn't bleeding before really looking at her revealed scalp, tears coming to her eyes as she saw just how ugly it all looked. Despite Mitch's best efforts, her head was a mess of blood, slashing cuts all over, tufts of ginger hair sticking up or bent over like trampled grass and swathes of bared skin with prickles of hair growing through. It was not a look to cultivate, it could possibly frighten small children if she went out without a covering. Turning away from the looking glass she contemplated her bath-to-come and cheered herself up with that prospect, rather than the one reflected back to her by the mirror.  
Stepping into the tin bath she crouched down and soaked the washing cloth until it was dripping, then carefully drizzled the warm water over her head, gritting her teeth when the water stung some of the cuts. Persisting, she repeated the move several times, sometimes laying the cloth over her head to soak the skin and ease off the dried blood. That done, she wrung the cloth out in the water gathering around her feet then soaped up the cloth with the block of soap, working up a wonderful smelling lather to then start spreading over her body and arms, her neck and face. As she worked the lather under her arms and around her breasts, she stood up and worked the cloth further down, dipping the cloth into the bucket when it cooled off then lathered up again until her fair skin was covered from neck to feet in white bubbles and smelling divine. Now she rinsed the cloth and started to use it to sluice off the soap, wringing out the dripping cloth over her head to wash the lather into the tin bath at her feet. Eventually, all the soap was washed from every crease and swirled around her feet in a scummy puddle. Lastly, she picked up what remained of the first bucket to rinse off her head, giving herself a short shower under the warm water. Satisfied she was a clean as she could make herself, Jamie stepped out onto the damp towel and reached for one of the dry ones. She wrapped it around herself then stood still, realizing that the towels were much better than she would have expected to be used by rough sailors. Were these actually from Lord Reiden's personal belongings? Or were they from Mitch's? Not wanting to dwell on the consequences of being found out using such valuable and luxurious items by mistake, she hurriedly dried herself, leaving off the bindings for that night and just putting on her nightshirt as the cabin felt hot and close. Prior to taking off her clothes, she had pulled the curtains tightly and made sure the window was shut tight, further adding to the steamy atmosphere and humid conditions. Now she wished she could go outside and cool off, but it was too much of a risk. Using the washcloth, she slowly emptied the tin bath into the sink before it got low enough that she could lift it and empty the soapy contents down the plug hole. That done she wiped it out and stood it on its bottom. Into that went the wet towels and empty bucket plus the cloth and cake of soap. It was a tiring business but at the end, she was clean and sweet smelling once more, an outcome she relished. Too hot from all that exercise to get under the covers, she lay on top of them, on the bottom bunk and shut her eyes. Her head felt naked without the bandages or any hair, the skin too tender for other than laying on the pillow.  
She woke sometime later to someone knocking on the door. She remembered she'd forgotten to lock it and padded over the floor and turned the key.   
Mitch regarded his roommate with a smile. She was rubbing at her eyes, obviously brought out of a deep sleep by his knocking, her poor head a mess of cuts and tufty ginger hair, the nightshirt hanging off her shoulders, the light in the room making her slender form be seen through the light cotton. She hadn't replaced the bindings, so her breasts were clearly evident. He moved forward, shutting the door quietly behind him.   
“You had your bath?”  
Jamie nodded, still not entirely awake. “I thought it better if I left my head uncovered, just for tonight.”  
“Good idea.” Mitch wasn't looking at her head, he was looking at everywhere but there. At her feet with their clean toenails, the slender calves above those. He couldn't ignore the tempting outline of her body, her waist and breast, and arms. It was the first time he'd seen her completely clean and she smelled heavenly. “Have fun?”  
She gave him a strange look but nodded anyway. “There's still a bucket of water, probably not hot anymore, but if you wanted to wash...?” She looked down at the tin bath, her mind's eye conjuring up images of Mitch sans clothing. Gulping she backed further into the room and turned, but hands landed on her shoulders and prevented her moving.   
“Let me check your head for any infection before you go back to bed.”  
She let him guide her to the camp chair and sat down, her hands folded in her lap while he moved her head to inspect the wounds. His hands cradled her skull, her nape, gently moved her head back and forth then side to side, his palms and fingers soothing and warm, her eyes closing as he looked her over, not realising that her nightshirt gaped, being too big, and gave the doctor a clear view of her breasts, small and pink-tipped and a clear invitation. He couldn't resist. He bent and kissed an undamaged piece of skin on her head, then chose another, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders, massaging the flesh around her neck and spine, stroking and pressing while he lay soft kisses on her head, down by one ear, against her temple, behind her ear, against her neck, all the time his hands stroking and molding, smoothing down her arms while his lips made love to her neck, her nape, the delicate space at the top of her spine above the neckline of her nightshirt.  
Jamie sat almost stupified by his continued attention, his warm hands and soft lips against her clean skin was unlooked for luxury, her breast brushing against the crisp cotton, further arousing her nipples into sensitive peaks. He was kissing the base of her neck, sparks shooting down her spine, her head tilting forward to give him greater access while his hands found their way to the front of her nightshirt and gently cupped her breasts through the fabric, thumbs brushing over the hard points hidden from sight. Jamie gasped at the intimate awareness that shot through her, her eyes popping open and breaking the thrawl of seduction. She was out of the chair and sitting on the side of the top bunk bed before Mitch had time to recover.   
“Good night, Dr. Morgan,” she managed to gasp out through her hectic breathing, before diving under the covers and settling herself, back to the room, as far from the edge as possible.   
Mitch stook in the middle of the room behind the chair and stared stupidly down at his empty hands, hands that only moments before had been full of heaven, thumbs teasing hard flesh. Good God, but she was a temptation. He'd been moments away from seducing an innocent, for fuck's sake. Luckily she'd come to her sense and fled because he wasn't sure he could have stopped if he'd wanted too. He'd be lucky if she spoke to him ever again. Never mind seduction, she was an inexperienced girl under his care and protection, not a plaything for him to mess with because she trusted him. Bloody hell, but he was as bad as the lowest cur, a despoiler of virgins. If she hadn't run, he would have carried on and even now be stripping her of her attire, applying his mouth to that fair skin from her head to her toes and all points in-between before spreading her legs and taking her virginity without hesitation, making her his whore in truth. What the fuck was he thinking?  
Shaken at himself, he sat in the camp chair and covered his face, ignoring the stiffness now tormenting him from being thwarted in his purpose. He wasn't an animal to rut after a defenseless woman, for heaven's sake. Nevermind that she had been responding to his caresses, would have eventually allowed him her body to do with as he wanted, she was supposed to be under his protection, vulnerable after that heinous attack and recovering from her wounds. She shouldn't have to put herself out of reach of his lecherous hands.   
Unable to bear his own, loathsome company, he left the room, switching the light off before closing the door. He'd need some time to cool off and bring his libido under control again, some cold night air and a stiff sea breeze might help achieve his usual, rational equilibrium once more.


	4. Skipping Among Volcanoes

Chapter Four – Skipping Among Volcanoes

Jamie didn't know where he was sleeping, but Mitch didn't return to the cabin for two days. She would awake in the morning and a breakfast tray would be waiting for her. During the day she would perform small tasks for Lord Reiden or Mr. Black, the photographer. Usually just tidying up their cabins, returning trays to the galley, helping to launder clothing, hanging it out, gathering it in, all the time with her hat jammed down on her head to hide her embarrassing baldness from curious stares. When indoors or during the evening, she discarded the hat for a scarf tied around her head, a bit like a pirate, the square of material a gift from one of the sailors who brushed her thanks off with the explanation he didn't need it and it was just a geegaw that had taken his eye. When her small amount of duties were done, she retired to the cabin and started to read her way through the small library that belonged to Mitch. Some were works of fiction, others books on medicine for animals and people. One of the medical tomes was a gift from his father, Maxwell Morgan, or Max, as he signed himself. He had given his son the book on the occasion of his graduation from medical school, something that surprised Jamie, who understood that Mitch was known for being a doctor of veterinary medicine, not a general practitioner. Despite that, he had treated her like a medical doctor, which further confused her. His medical bag still sat under the sink and she had taken a peek inside it, seeing a number of items and a surgical kit that could have been intended for either animal or human use. She could only assume that something traumatic had happened to make Mitch jump educational tracks into becoming a veterinary doctor. Whether the patient was animal or human, he had a special touch and certainly knew how to keep both as healthy as possible.   
One the second day after leaving the Madeira islands they were coming up on the Canary Islands, the days getting warmer the further south they traveled. Seabirds wheeled overhead, diving spectacularly into the sea to catch fish, then flying towards the dark mountains rising out of the ocean ahead of them. The Watana steamed past the first, northernmost island, Isla de Lanzarote, the peaks dark and covered in jungle, carrying on to the second island Isla de Fuerteventura. Ships, large and small sailed the same waters, some acting as ferries between the islands, taking people and supplies, trade and news to the villagers on them. Their ultimate destination was the Las Palmas port at the north end of the Gran Canaria island at the center of the archipelago. As the day passed it was clear they wouldn't arrive at the port until it was dark, the sun sinking towards the horizon and painting the sky with exuberant color, the wind in Jamie's face where she stood at the prow was warm and dry, a foretaste of the hotter climates to come. Lights came on all over the ship, as it did on other ships heading either towards or away from the port as they approached. They would anchor out in the bay and use smaller launches to take supplies to the port. Jamie had learnt that the reason they made so many stops along the way was not only to keep their water and coal supplies topped up, plus feed for the horses, but to trade among the different ports, helping to pay for the running costs of food and fuel along the journey. Here they would take on bananas and drop off wine from Lisbon, and the same would happen at each and every port they stopped at.  
Jamie wasn't tired and stayed up to watch the crew transport goods to and fro from the ship to shore, the smaller boats illuminated with oil lamps swinging on poles, a lighthouse further up the coast sweeping a light over the water to warn ships of the rocky shoreline and reefs. The Captain also used the time in exotic ports to update his charts and information about the waters surrounding the islands, important is he wanted to avoid going aground on shifting sandbars.   
As she watched, she felt a presence nearby and turned to see Mitch leaning on the railing, his glasses reflecting the lights of the city on the shore and the bobbing lights on the water. He felt her gaze and turned towards her.   
“How are you?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.   
“Better. Where are you sleeping?”  
“In the valet's room.”  
“You should have your room back and I'll move into the valet room.”  
“No. You're better off there. I'm sorry.”  
“Whatever for?” she asked, surprised.  
“You know what for. I abused your trust,” he insisted. “After all you'd been through, you had to put up with me groping you. I'm so sorry.”  
“It was a much my fault as yours. I didn't tell you to stop.”  
“For heaven's sake you can't take on any of the blame, it was my inability to control myself.”  
Jamie smiled at the exasperation in his voice. “Well, as no one would say I'm particularly attractive at the moment, I must have done something to tempt you into committing an indiscretion.”  
Mitch moved a step closer, not wanting their conversation to be overheard. “It was my job to protect you, not assault you.”  
“No, it's not.”  
“What?”  
“It's not your job to protect me. By the way, why did you give up training to be a doctor?”  
Mitch was close enough for her to see his face, his current expression one of shocked confusion. “How do you know about that?”  
“I've been reading your books. One was the book given to you on your graduation from medical school, from your father?”  
“Oh. That book. I'd forgotten he wrote inside it. Why are you reading that?”  
“I get lonely in the evening and the books are interesting.”  
Mitch looked guilty again. “I should have thought of that.”  
“Good heaven's, Mitch. You aren't responsible for me in any way or form. Under normal circumstances with me as a stable boy, you wouldn't talk to me at all, let alone sleep in the same room with me other than when I'm a patient.”  
He was right next to her now, looming dark, the bulkhead light on the outside of the cabins leaving his outline rimmed with a weak yellow glow. She suddenly realized that her face and scarf-covered head were in the full glare from his point of view. Embarrassed, she went to move away, her head bowed and hands hovering as if to cover it up. Warm hands caught hers and drew them away.   
“Don't. You didn't do this to yourself, so you have no need to cover it up.”  
“But it's so ugly.”  
“Your hair will grow back in time, and you are so far from ugly I shouldn't have to remind you.”  
Jamie stared at the deck, his words that he'd used when he'd first dressed her poor head came back to her, words that were usually endearments given to loved ones, not scrubby urchins.  
“Jamie?”  
“Did you mean any of those things you said when you were cleaning up my head?”  
Mitch was smiling now, his hands still holding hers, his thumbs smoothing over the soft skin on the back of each. “You mean things like sweetheart, and dearest or my beauty?”  
Jamie couldn't speak, only nod. Mitch looked around to see if they were being observed. He drew them into a shadowy area between the deck lights. When he felt they were hidden from any curious gaze, he lifted one of her hands and kissed the knuckles.   
“I meant every one of them, my brave girl. That's why I had to move out. If I stayed I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't try to seduce you every time I looked at you.” His words carried to her ears with soft, urgent honesty. She looked up at him, her eyes wide.  
“Why? I'm nobody, a stowaway, a penniless nothing...”  
“Never nothing, not to me.”  
They stared at each other, there in the shadows, hand joined until a noise from below sent them jerking apart. Jamie turned to go, hating that the spell had been broken by reality intruding.   
“Wait!” Mitch called. She turned and found him right behind her, his head lowering, blocking out the light until his lips touched hers, light as a butterfly, asking permission, expecting nothing. She hesitated, but when he made to pull back she pressed against him, her lips melding to his, letting him know that she wanted his kiss, needed it as a flower needed the sun. It lasted several seconds then he pulled back, Jamie following but stopping when it became clear he wasn't going to kiss her again. Feeling rejected she started to pull away but he wouldn't let her, gathering her into his arms for a firm hug that lasted longer than the kiss, willing her to understand that now was not the time or place to take things further.   
“I think it best, sweetheart, that we stay as friends and that I sleep elsewhere. You are too tempting for a mere mortal to stay away from.”  
Jamie nodded, Mitch letting her go this time, watching until she disappeared around the corner of the deck to return to her lonely cabin.   
He turned back to stare into the darkness, his hands curled into fists at his side. He stayed there for over an hour before he was joined by his employer, the man blowing a cloud with a cigar.  
“Morgan?”  
“Lord Reiden.”  
“A fine night.”  
“Certainly is.”  
The two men stood at the rail and watched the dark sky come alive with stars and a brilliant moon rise above the island's heights. The air was redolent with the scent of cigar smoke and the sea, the last of the boats making their trip back to the port, bobbing on the waves, the port too far away for the noise to reach them, the ships anchored out in the bay ranged at a safe distance from each other, their lights reflected in the calm water, their masts and funnels like the spires and towers of a floating city.  
“Not long to go now before we set foot on Africa.”  
“No. Two weeks and we'll be at the Congo, more or less.”  
“How are the horses holding up?”  
“Could do with some time on land, but they've spent longer overwintering inside, so they're used to it.”  
“Hmmm.” Reiden drew on his cigar. “How is the boy's recovery going?”  
“You see him more than me, m'lord.”  
Reiden shot his companion a sideways glance at his terse response.”Had a falling out with the lad?”  
Mitch cursed his unthinking response to a reasonable question. “No. Nothing like that. I'm...I've taken to sleeping in the valet's cabin.”  
“Your reasoning?”  
“The boy has been having bad dreams, with neither of us getting much sleep. I decided I needed to bunk elsewhere until his mental disturbances subside.”  
“Hmmm. Not surprised the nipper is having nightmares, he's had a time of it. I was wondering if we should take him with us when we venture into the interior or leave him on the ship. I'm thinking now that if he is as bad as you say, leaving him aboard could be quite the best decision.”  
Mitch felt a sharp pang discussing Jamie as if she was of no account. “Of course, it is your decision who makes up the expedition.”  
Reiden cast his employee, his friend with a sanguine look. “We'll see. He's useful to have around, does his jobs with efficiency and discretion. If you can resolve his mental issues, by that I mean his sleeping disorders, I'll make a decision based on your report when we arrive at Boma.”  
Mitch bowed his head slightly. “As you wish.”  
Reiden turned to go, his cigar stub tossed over the rail and into the sea. “Come to my cabin, I have some thoughts about what we can add to our supplies and I'd like your input.”  
Mitch nodded and followed his employer, glad that his heart had settled into a more regular beat than before. Now was not the time for a hot head or ill-considered decisions. 

They were nearing the end of the long stretch, steaming from the previous stop at the Canaries towards the country referred to as Cape Verde or the Republic of Cabo Verde, a collection of volcanic islands divided into the Ilhas Do Barlavento or windward group and the Ilhas Do Satovento, or leeward group. The capital Porto Praya or Praia, and their destination, was on the largest one of the southernmost islands called St.Yago or Santiago, three hundred and fifty miles from the coast of West Africa. They were now a little over a thousand miles north of the equator and the days were becoming hotter with every mile they covered. On land, they were on a par with the Great Saharan desert, or as it was also known as the territory of French West Africa, Mauritania, home to such fantastical sounding places as Timbuktu and Chad. They would sail through the collection of ten islands and anchor off Praia to offload more cargo and take on coal and fresh water. The tank at the front of the boat held a considerable reserve, but allowing for passenger's use of the precious commodity for bathing and laundry, it needed to be replenished as frequently as possible. Plus, after nearly ten days at sea, fresh fruit and produce were either consumed or gone off in the increasingly warm temperatures, so landfall was essential, and Lord Reiden was paying well for the luxury. 

They anchored off the coast, the bay full of ships as were all the ones they'd visited in their journey. The harbor was a hive of activity, the relatively new custom house sat four-square on the wharf, while palm trees added a tropical touch further along. Framing the capital was the rising slopes of jagged, volcanic peaks behind the flat coastal plateau, the dwellings close together with white walls and red rooves, what they'd come to expect from previous experience. A coal barge was anchored in the bay and ships were sending their crews to load up from that, coming back with launches loaded high with sacks of the black fuel, while other small boats ferried passengers and crew to the shore, returning with fresh produce, kegs, and crates with all manner of contents. Jamie watched it all with avid curiosity, while the photographer set his tripod and fixed his camera to the top. She was intrigued by the small nature of the equipment he used. Instead of the large, concentina'd, boxed camera that she'd seen once in a photographic studio, this was relatively small, with no evidence of glass plates or the usual paraphernalia associated with the craft. There was still a cloth to allow the photographer to peer through an aperture to line up the shot, but after pressing a button, this one attached to a cord to avoid jostling, it was all done and packed up again.  
Mr. Black noticed her looking and motioned her over. “This, young man, is the very latest in photographic technology, I'll have you know.”  
“It doesn't look like any camera I've ever seen,” Jamie observed, using her stable boy voice. “Where's the plates?”  
Mr. Black tapped the side of his nose. “That's the marvel of this machine. There are no glass plates. I don't even have to carry chemicals to develop the picture.”  
Jamie looked suitably surprised and the man continued his explanation. “This has come all the way from America, from a business called the Eastman Company in New York. They have found a way to incorporate a roll of film made of cellulose inside the camera, so I can take up to one hundred photographs, isn't that wonderful?”  
“Can I see 'em?”   
“No, no, dear boy. They stay inside the camera, and when I've used all the roll, I send it all back to the company for them to process the images onto paper, then they post the pictures back to me.”  
“But what if you wanna take more than a hundred photo's?”  
“You just get another camera, and because it's all contained in the one box, it's perfect if you are traveling. Would you believe I have two of these?” The man looked so proud, he puffed up his chest like a pigeon.   
“Cor. You have two?”  
“I do. See, the counter on this camera is already showing I've used forty frames, so I'll need the second camera for when we arrive in the Congo. I'll be able to take another one hundred photographs during the expedition, won't that be a marvel?”  
“Have you taken a picture of me?” Jamie asked, suitably awed.   
“Not yet, but I expect to take an image of the crew before we disembark, a sort of before and after, so to speak.”  
“Can I be in that?”  
“You surely can. I'll expect you to be at the front.” He beamed at her in an avuncular fashion.   
Jamie grinned back, then heard her name called. She looked down from the railing to see Mitch waving to her to come down.   
“By, Mr. Black. Thank's for 'plaining that to me.”  
She turned away and ran to the steep steps leading down to the next level. In seconds she was standing by Mitch.  
“Want to go ashore?” he asked.   
“Yes. Please?”  
“We'll go when the boat is unloaded. Go get your hat.”  
Jamie raced away, dodging around the crew standing on deck to help with the loading. She arrived in the cabin and snatched up her hat, turning to the mirror. She was going to take off the bandana, when she decided to leave it on, jamming the hat over it, making a tight fit. The wind had been brisk on deck, and more likely worse on the open water, so keeping her hat secure was a must. 

Mitch was waiting for her in the boat while she clambered down the ladder, the last few steps greasy with seaweed and water, but she managed the final step onto the smaller boat, only needing a small help to steady her before she was waved to the front of the boat to take a seat. Mitch soon joined her on the narrow bench so they were at the prow, the four native oarsmen behind them and one at the tiller to guide them to shore. The natives were dark skinned and heavily muscled, the boat skimming across the water while the oars dipped and lifted, propelling them quickly towards the custom house and the beach beside the wharf. The sand crunched under the keel when it was driven onto the sand to give the passengers a dry landing, then it was off again, the men baring startlingly white teeth in wide grins, already working the oars and off to their next job after a toss of coins from Mitch for payment.   
The sand was littered with shells and small pebbles, along with seaweed and human detritus like frayed rope and netting, broken barrels and bits of wooden crates. Tramping up the beach they reached a row of towering palm trees lining the dirt road curving around the bay. In the near distance was Quail island that served as a coal wharf. Up ahead was the important and imposing Customs House. Beyond was the rise to the main township, set on a plateau with fortifications pointing out to sea, left over from the days the capital had to be fortified against English and Algerian pirates in the late sixteenth century. Now the fortifications were ruins and the guns still pointing out to sea, merely relics from a bygone age. Houses and churches filled the areas behind the walls, but their first visit was to the custom house.   
Mitch indicated for Jamie to take a seat outside while he conducted his business, the road, and wharf beyond a seething throng of dark-skinned people going about their business of loading and unloading, selling and buying, an auction of goods and produce taking place further along with a large crowd gathered to see what was being offered.   
Not knowing how long Mitch might be, Jamie wandered down the road, perfecting her boyish swagger, hands firmly jammed in her trouser pockets, hat pulled down over her forehead to shade her face. Her clothes indicated she was off one of the ships, others like her scattered among the interested gathering, the natives wearing a more colorful dress, the women also carrying large baskets for their purchases. The auctioneer was shouting in the local language, pointing to the crates and bales beside him, detailing their contents and keeping track of the bids, while his helpers, mostly young men, jumped up and down to see bidders hands, shouting back to their employer in a rapid patter each time someone bid and raised the price. It was noisy, fast-paced and punctuated with the bang of a gavel - in this case, a rounded stone, on wood to announce the end of the bidding before moving on to the next. She stood there at the back of the crowd, the people around her gradually thinning as each item up for sale was sold and the purchaser moved on to collect his wares. Soon the auctioneer held up his hands to indicate there was nothing further to sell and the crowd dispersed. The amusement over, she wandered back towards the Custom House, kicking at pebbles as she went. As she crossed the dirt road, the sound of a carriage traveling fast came up behind her and she hurried to get out of the way. To her surprise, the carriage stopped beside her and the driver leaped out.  
“So this is where you run away to, you irritating pest!” Jamie found herself swung around, a hard hand gripping her arm. A man about Mitch's age was glaring down at her, obviously mistaking her for someone else.   
“Oy! Let go!” Jamie tried to pull away, but the hand was like a steel band and couldn't be moved. The man peered more closely at her and then pulled back, a look of surprise on his face.   
“I'm sorry, I do beg your pardon. I thought you were....well, never mind.” His eyes narrowed. “You just arrived on the island?”  
“Um...well...” Jamie mumbled, looking around, glad to see Mitch striding over, his expression thunderous.  
“Good, God. Can't I leave you for five minutes and you get into mischief!”  
Jamie bristled and was about to shout at him when the stranger spoke up first.   
“My apologies, I mistook the young man for my pupil.”  
Mitch didn't look any happier. “Then I'll thank you to let go of him.”  
Both Jamie and the stranger looked in surprise at his hand still holding on to her arm. He dropped it immediately and Jamie rubbed it, moving back to stand behind Mitch.   
“Benjamin Shaffer, I teach at the local school, and I'm afraid I mistook your young friend for a truant.” He held out his hand and Mitch shook it, his expression only slightly less angry than before. “An easy mistake to make. We're just here for a bit of shore leave, off the Watana anchored in the bay. I was in the custom-house settling up.”  
The schoolteacher chuckled. “I'm afraid boys are the worst for bunking off. Where are you sailing to?”  
“Africa. Boma to be precise. We're part of Lord Reiden's expedition,” Mitch told him, his mood lifting now that Jamie was once more out of danger.   
“I say, I read about that. The latest papers just arrived a day ago, still several weeks out of date, but that's of no mind. There was an article by the Geographical Society about you, or about Lord Reiden. Something about strange animals sighted in the Congo?”  
Mitch nodded. “The very same. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Shaffer. Good luck finding your truant, but we must get on.” The two men shook hands again and the teacher climbed into his carriage, tipped his hat at Jamie, then set off, rattling along the seafront into the distance.   
Mitch swung around, his hands resting on his hips. “For heaven's sake...”  
Jamie flared up. “It wasn't my fault. I was minding my own business when he jumped out and grabbed me!”  
Mitch stared at her for a moment, then he started to laugh. Jamie stared at him, perplexed.  
“What's so funny?”  
“It doesn't seem to matter whether it's aboard ship or on shore. You are just a magnet for trouble.”  
Jamie crossed her arms and tried to stare him down, but his humor was infectious. “I tell you, it's not me, truly. I was only walking across the road.”  
Mitch just shook his head. “Come on, I have some purchases to make, and you are my parcel carrier, this time.”  
They carried on into the town, blending with the crowds already there, the market in full swing with shopkeepers shouting their goods and services, while the people talked and haggled and animals bleated their distress and impatience. Mitch stopped to ask a few stall holders for directions, their path winding through the lanes and alleyways until they faced a blue door with a handsome knocker. A woman answered their knock and ushered them inside.   
Where are we?” Jamie asked, the place looking like an ordinary house. They were led through the outer room into an inner courtyard, then back into more rooms, the house extending further than you'd think from the outside. Eventually, they were asked to wait in a small anteroom, like a doctors waiting room.   
“Why are we here?” Jamie asked. Mitch cleared his throat.   
“I'm here to stock up on some medicines. You're here to talk to someone.”  
Jamie looked back at him in surprise. “Who am I going to be talking to, and about what?”  
“A doctor, and what happened to you,” Mitch replied. “You won't talk to me, so you can talk to him instead.”  
“I'm fine. I don't need to talk to anyone.”  
“You are not, and you do. Trust me, you need to tell someone what happened between Creighton and yourself, and I'm not just talking about the attack, something happened before that, I know.”  
Jamie looked taken aback. “But...why?”  
Mitch sighed. “You are having nightmares, every night. You talk in your sleep, cry out and fight. You need to tell someone what happened to clear your head and give all of us some peace.” He knew he sounded hard and unsympathetic, but she needed this and he was damned sure she was going to do it. Jamie stared back at him with wounded eyes.   
“You said it was something else that made you sleep elsewhere.”  
“It was, but this also needs to be addressed because if it is not, you won't be getting off the boat at Boma. That will be the end of the line for you. You will be left behind while we...I go on.”  
Jamie stared at him, her hurt turning into suspicion. “Lord Reiden put you up to this.”  
“No. I put you up for this. If you want to come on this expedition, then I have to be responsible for you. I have to be able to sleep in the same tent with you and to do that I have to be sure you won't wake me and the rest of the camp up with your screams. So make your mind up. Speak now, or be prepared to wave goodbye when we get to Boma.”  
Jamie sank back into her chair, turning her head away from Mitch and staring out the window into the courtyard. As if just waiting for his visitors to complete their conversation, the door opposite where they sat opened and a man appeared. He was a European, old, with white hair and thick white whiskers on the side of his face.  
“Good Morning, my name is Doctor Anton. Which one of you is my patient for today?”  
Mitch stood up. “Pleasure to meet you, Doctor, you come highly recommended. My name is Mitchell Morgan, and this is Jamie Campbell. She is your patient.”  
Jamie jumped to her feet, her expression shocked. “But...?”  
Mitch shook his head. “This is too important, Jamie for your wellbeing, we are dispensing with disguises for today.” Mitch turned back to the doctor. “I leave her in your care, Doctor. Would three hours be sufficient?”  
“I imagine so. If you will come this way, young lady, we'll see how we can help you.”  
Jamie found herself ushered into the man's office, leaving Mitch behind.

The room was like any other doctor's rooms, filled with books, labeled models of bits of human anatomy, paintings, and portraits, even a couple of plants to soften the very masculine room.   
“Please, take a seat.”  
Jamie did as instructed then removed her hat, leaving the bandana on. “I didn't know that was what we were coming here for.”  
“So it came as something of a shock when Mr. Morgan...”  
“Doctor...veterinary...” Jamie interrupted.  
“When Dr. Morgan explained?”  
“A bit.”  
“But you were more surprised when he introduced you as a woman, not the boy you appear to be.”  
Jamie reached up to touch her head. “He's the only one that knows that I'm not a boy. I stowed away on the ship as a stable boy but had an accident. When he treated me he found out I wasn't a boy.”  
“I see. And now he is in love with you?”  
Jamie jerked and looked up. “I....er....I'm not sure what he is. I thought he stopped sleeping in the cabin with me because...”  
“Yes?”  
Jamie blushed bright pink. “I can't say why.”  
The doctor nodded. “But we get ahead of ourselves. Tell me a little about yourself, Jamie Campbell. I note that your natural voice has an accent?”  
The doctor listened while Jamie explained how she'd ended up on a ship bound for Africa. During her narrative, the man managed to tease out aspects of her early life, her family, her parent's fate, what she'd done to deal with the grief. He listened and heard the anger and helpless rage at fate, of her resolve, her life in America on her own, the difficulties and obstacles she'd overcome. Once she started, she didn't seem able to stop, telling the man about her trip over to England, the friend she'd made, the circumstances that had ended up with her employed by Lord Reiden as a stable boy. He even managed to get her to confess to her original plan to murder her employer, something the doctor took in his stride, understanding probably more than she did, how her plans had changed, her motives been put aside since boarding the steamship and getting to know Dr. Morgan. Her adventure started to unravel with the confrontation with Creighton, Jamie telling of the man's bitterness and cruelty, of the encounter in the mess and being labeled a molly, the suggestion being she was sleeping with Mitch and probably Lord Reiden as well, made all the worse because she was supposedly a boy, making the whole situation a horror story. Then came the attack, her story punctuated with tears as she retold the incident, the pain and fear, not only of being injured, possibly killed, but of having her gender exposed, and even of the danger to Mitch and the conjecture likely to be bandied about him and her sleeping together in the same cabin. When she calmed down, she carried on her tale to include the encounter after her bath, of Mitch and his desires, then distancing himself only to kiss her in the dark. All the emotional turmoil left her tear stained and exhausted. While she mopped her face, the doctor rang a bell and asked for a tea tray to be served. When it arrived, it was laden not only with a steaming teapot and cups but also plates of food. When Jamie raised her head and looked at the clock on the wall she was shocked to see that nearly two and a half hours had passed while she poured her heart out to Dr. Anton. The kind man poured her a hot, fragrant cup of tea and handed it over.  
“Drink, then eat. You have had quite an ordeal.”  
Jamie sipped at her drink, sniffing back the tears. Pouring out her fears and worries had been cathartic, as well as being able to tell exactly what had happened to her. She felt a little embarrassed to be able to tell a stranger what she couldn't tell Mitch. Anton joined her in having a cup of tea, having one of the delicious savories as well.   
“Are you going to tell Mitch?”  
“Do you want me to?” he shot back. Jamie looked at him in puzzlement.   
“He engaged you, so I'm suspecting there will be a fee, so aren't you obligated to tell him?”  
Anton shook his head. “You are an astute young lady, but no, what is spoken about within these walls, remains here, between yourself and myself. It is private. In fact, I am flattered that Dr. Morgan saw fit to entrust your mental welfare to me, even if all I can do is act as your confessor, in this instance.”  
“Confessor?”  
“Have you not unburdened yourself to me in these past hours? Was it not a confession of what is worrying you? Do you not feel better?”  
Jamie looked at him, still unsure. “I guess. Will my nightmares go away now?”  
Anton smiled. “I think if you let Dr. Morgan in to carry the burden with you, you will find that security and trust can go a long way to settling the mind and giving you peace.”  
“You're recommending I tell him what I've told you?” Jamie looked a little taken aback.  
“I think if you want your relationship to progress, then you must be honest and open with him.”  
Jamie lowered her head and stared at her tea. “We don't have a relationship.”  
Anton chuckled. “Oh, I think that is a little lie, is it not? You are as much falling in love with him, as he is with you. It is never advisable to keep secrets from those we love. It leads to misunderstandings and a lack of trust.”  
“I couldn't tell him everything...Lord Reiden...”  
“Tell him what you feel comfortable relating. But tell him soon. The longer the misunderstanding continues, the wider the rift between you, and I think that is not wanted by either of you.”  
Jamie slowly shook her head. “No. I don't want a rift between us.”  
The clock on the walled started to chime, announcing the end of the three hours. Jamie put down her cup and got to her feet.   
“He'll want to know something, so you have my permission to tell him what you think he needs to know. No more secrets.”  
Dr. Anton reached for her hands, smiling at her softly. “You are a wise woman. Let us go and see if your young man is waiting.”  
When they opened the door, Mitch was sitting in the reception room, jumping up as soon as the doctor and Jamie appeared. He was obviously bursting to hear how it went, but instead just looked at them both. Jamie felt shy and couldn't meet his eyes, Anton smiling at Mitch in a satisfying way.   
“Is...er...everything alright?” Mitch asked, his eyes darting between the doctor and Jamie.   
“If you would like to step in, I'll give you my considered opinion.” Anton looked at Jamie. “Just take a seat, my dear. We won't be long.”

Jamie felt a lot lighter, emotionally speaking, almost wanting to skip as they left the house and stepped out onto the dirt road. Mitch was quiet, reaching for her hand to pull it through his arm to rest in the crook of his elbow. As Jamie was back into her persona of a boy, it looked a little incongruous. She allowed the intimacy for the short while they were among the back streets, and unobserved, relishing the feel of warmth and strength through the sleeve of his jacket. Mitch unerringly led them through the narrow streets back to the main road, where Jamie discreetly pulled her hand free of his arm, in case any of the crew were also taking advantage of some shore leave.  
He stopped briefly at a small store to collect several parcels, handing several to Jamie who found them heavy.  
“You went shopping?” she asked.  
“I had three hours to fill, and I needed some stuff. Come on, we don't want to miss the tide.”  
They arrived back at the Watana and got aboard without mishap, Mitch leading them back to the cabin, putting some of the items into the sink while he pulled out his medical bag. Jamie sat on the bottom bunk and started to unwrap the parcels.   
“Be careful, these are all medicines, some in liquid form, others as powers or pills. They should all be labeled.” Mitch did the same with his parcels, taking the brown paper off with care to reveal a variety of vials and bottles, all having a gum plaster stuck on the side to explain the contents and dosage. Jamie took a little longer, reading the labels, admiring the neat print and interested to see what was considered medicine in such an exotic part of the world. She was surprised by some of the contents.  
“Garlic oil?”  
“Antisepsis.”  
Jamie picked up another one. “Digitalis? Isn't that a poison?”  
“Foxglove. And yes, in the wrong amounts it can be a deadly poison, but with the right application it can help with seizures or heart problems.”  
Jamie passed him the bottle, then picked up another one. “Quinine?”  
“For Malaria, passed by Mosquitos. Where we're going we need both a preventative and a cure for the seizures if someone contracts the condition.”  
“Oh. The preventative?”  
“Chrysanthemum cinerariaefolium. The flowers have a chemical called Pyrethrin which has long been used as an insecticide for centuries. I have a quantity in power form that, when made into a liquid with the right dosage, can be applied to exposed skin to prevent insects from biting. In Africa, there are a number of nasty parasites and diseases passed on through insect bites, so I came prepared. I also have calamine lotion if one is bitten, to counteract the intense itch.”  
“I'm impressed. Surely the natives have similar cures that their doctor's use?”  
Mitch shrugged. “I imagine so, but until we get there and I have the opportunity to discuss medicine with one of them, I'll stick with the tried and true.”  
Between them, they finished unwrapping and storing the precious chemicals, only after Mitch had them all safely packed away did he turn to Jamie.  
“Are you hungry?”  
“Not really.”  
“Good. We need to talk.”  
Jamie sighed and took off her Panama hat. “What do you want to talk about?”  
“Dr. Anton didn't tell me much, other than to say that he thought the nightmares would lessen with time and if I moved back into this cabin.”  
“He did?”  
“He thought that my absence would make the situation worse, not better.” Mitch stared at his hands. “He suggested that if...or when, you have an episode, to offer comfort and security, rather than ignore the nightmares.”  
“Oh.” Jamie thought for a moment. “What do you think of his advice?”  
Mitch nodded. “I think he's a shrewd old man with a lot of common sense. I know from my own experience, admittedly from childhood, that leaving someone to suffer alone is not conducive to dealing with what's causing the nightmare in the first place.” He reached up to adjust his spectacles and held Jamie's gaze. “He also suggested I get you to talk about what happened between you and Creighton in the mess room, and on the deck.”  
It was Jamie's turn to stare down at her hands. “Can we not do this right now?” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I just spent the last three hours pouring my guts out onto Dr. Anton's carpet. Can I tell you tomorrow?”   
He recognized it as a delaying tactic but didn't call her on it. “Fine. We'll be setting off on the first tide, so tomorrow night.”  
She nodded, then looked up at him shyly. “Are you coming back to bunk here tonight?”  
Mitch let out a gusty sigh and stood up. He checked his pocket watch. “Yes. Can you go and clear out what I've got in the other cabin? I have to report to Lord Reiden.”  
“Sure. See you later?”  
He nodded again, sending her a tight smile before leaving the cabin. Jamie stared after him, not at all sure of his mood or how he felt about the move back. She thought he was reluctant, but what did she know about men or their thoughts? She hugged the news that he would be back near her, the emotions it raised warming her through and through. Jamming her hat back on her head, she left the cabin and almost skipped down the hallway to descend to the lower deck where the valet's former cabin was located. 

Jamie was on deck when the Watana prepared to steam her way out of the harbor the next day. She was surprised to see the black carriage from the previous day appear on the docks. Was Mr. Shaffer still looking for his lost student? She narrowed her eyes and saw the man climb down then walk to the wharf that extended into the sea. The Watana let out a loud hoot to announce her departure and the figure of the teacher broke into a run, reaching the end of the wharf and taking off his hat to wave. As none of the other ships were leaving at that moment, she could only assume he was waving at them, Jamie taking off her own hat and waving it energetically back, the waving continuing until they were too far away to see each other. She wondered briefly why Mr. Shaffer would have gone to all the trouble of waving to the ship, then shrugged and put her hat back on, continuing to take in the expansive views that you got being out at sea, admiring the dark, jagged peaks of the island as it slid further and further astern.   
Mitch had returned to the cabin, as promised, but he'd left it so late she was already asleep. She assumed he dined with Lord Reiden and probably stayed late to drink brandy and smoke cigars. That was what men do, after all. When she rose in the morning, he was fast asleep himself, his back to her, impervious to her movements about the room as she dressed and prepared for the day. When she returned to the cabin after taking breakfast in the galley, he was up and shaving, bidding her good morning, but for the most part, carrying on as if she didn't exist. She made the beds and picked up the clothes needing a wash, carrying them out of the room, collecting the sheets and pillowcases from the empty cabin on the next floor down and taking them all to the laundry tub placed on deck. For the next few hours, she fetched buckets of water back and forth from the galley where the cook heated it and supplied her with the soap chips to work into a froth. It was hard, vigorous work and she was glad to have one of the crew helping her peg up the sheets on a line for that purpose, the wet fabric too heavy for her to lift. She worked up a substantial muck sweat and was glad to retire to the cabin to clean herself up. She rinsed out the headscarf and the shirt she'd been wearing to remove the sweat, then put on a clean shirt, hanging the damp one up to dry in the cabin which was hot. She opened the window to get a through draft and enjoyed the flow of air over her nearly hairless head. Fine hairs were starting to grow back, but it was like baby fluff and barely noticeable. It would take weeks before a decent layer of growth would be achieved and that would only just cover her scalp if she was lucky. The cuts were healing well and no longer tender, her hands the same. She was even starting to get a touch of sun on the backs of her hands, her forearms and face from the constant exposure to strong sunlight, despite using a hat most of the time. She'd have to ask Mitch if there was a cream or lotion she could use to lessen the effect of the sun on her fair skin, otherwise, she'd end up as dark skinned as most of the crew members. If she did develop a tan, she'd have to invest in lemon juice baths if she ever wanted to return to looking like a civilized woman, rather than a street rat. At the very least her skin would freckle indiscriminately, leaving her looking like she had the measles or some other horrible disease. Being a redhead was indeed a trial.

That night, Jamie felt a degree of nervousness, rehearsing what she would say to Mitch when he finally returned to the cabin for their proposed 'talk'. She felt a hundred times better now that she'd unloaded a lot of her guilt and fear with talking to Doctor Anton, somehow confessing the worst of what happened seemed to have expunged the demons that had been disturbing her sleep. Despite not actually seeing Mitch come to bed, her subconscious must have known and she'd had a dreamless night, waking refreshed and energized in the morning. It seemed that a combination of confessing her deepest secrets and having Mitch once more sleeping nearby was enough to banish the nightmares, for now, it remained to be seen if they were gone for good.  
The door finally opened and he was there. He looked tired but he smiled at her and walked the few steps to the camp chair to sit down. She was sitting cross-legged on the bottom bunk, ready to answer any questions he might have.   
“How's your day been?” she asked, wanting to break the silence between them.   
“Busy. One of the horses developed a cough, so I've been down in the hold. I don't think it's anything serious, but we'll see.”  
“Okay. Have you had your dinner?” It was long past the hour for a meal, but she thought she'd ask anyway. He nodded.   
“You?” he asked.  
She nodded. This was ridiculous. “So what do you want to talk about?”  
Mitch stared back at her. “You know, you don't have to tell me what happened, or what he said. I just thought that the more you talk about it, the less it can hurt you, or prey on your mind.”  
Jamie looked down at her hands. “I know I don't have to tell you, but maybe it would clear the air between us? I still feel that you might be...avoiding me?”  
Mitch sighed. “Alright. Let's start with the incident in the galley. Cook told me Creighton said some stuff to you and you ran off.”  
“He...suggested that I'd paid for the suit...” she struggled to get the words out, they seemed so ugly in her head. She drew in a breath. “He said that I must have a pretty arse and be an expensive fuck.” She blushed bright red to hear the words said out loud. “I...I couldn't get away at first because he was holding me in place by my hair, but he said it loudly and in front of the whole crew, warning them away in case I sneaked into their beds. He said I was a Molly for the doctor.”  
“Dear Lord!”  
Jamie continued. “One of the stokers spoke up for me, but Creighton just kept on about me being a good...fuck, then the cook came in and told him to shut up and I got loose and bolted.” She gulped, having rushed the words at the end.   
Mitch was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands up and covering the bottom half of his face. He let them drop and stared at her, appalled that she'd been exposed to such coarseness and for no reason.   
“So what happened up on the deck?” he asked.   
“He had just shaved Lord Reiden and cornered me when he left the cabin and came down the corridor. He'd heard I needed a haircut and came at me with the cutthroat razor. I tried to fight him off but he was too strong. I tried to cover my head with my hands but he just cut them until I let go, then he went for my hair, slashing at my head. At one point he put his knee on my chest and I couldn't breathe, then he moved and I filled my lungs and screamed. I don't think he even noticed, just kept on slicing and slicing and I thought he'd start scalping me, then the door opened behind me and I fell out onto someone's feet.”  
“That was me.”  
“...after that, I don't remember much, and suddenly I was back in the cabin and you were washing my head. It was so odd like I was floating or something. I really didn't feel much after that.”  
Mitch stared back at her, his brows twisted in distress.“God. I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that. I think he must have been sick in the head to do that to anyone, let alone a defenseless boy.”  
Jamie waved a hand dismissively. “Looking back, I think he hated this trip, hated having to share a cabin with the other man. Hated me because I had suddenly risen from being a stowaway, the lowest of the low, then suddenly I have a new set of clothes and not cheap ones for a stable boy, and then to hear that Lord Reiden wanted me to do odd jobs for him?” Jamie let out a sigh. “I think he thought if he frightened me enough I'd run away and his job would be safe.”  
“That's no excuse for such barbaric behavior. This was not your fault, Jamie. Not one iota of it.”  
She shrugged. “I know, or at least I'm coming around to that way of thinking.”  
Mitch gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Now, a change of subject. Let me see your head.”  
Jamie stood up. “I think it's healing well, there're no tender spots.” She knelt and inclined her head for him to get a better view. His fingers gently moved over her scalp, inspecting the red lines that crisscrossed her skin, brushing the fine hairs slowly returning in a short fuzz over her head.   
“Your hair is starting to grow back, and all the cuts are healing nicely.”  
She felt the warmth of his breath scant seconds before his lips kissed her damaged scalp, her breath drawing in on a gasp as the kiss continued for a few seconds before he lifted his head. She raised her head to look up at him, her hands reaching out to steady herself on his knees. He was staring down at her with such a look of unalloyed affection she raised herself up on her knees and pressed her lips to his, his lips parting in surprise but not drawing away. After a few seconds she pulled back, but his warm hands came up to cup her face, his lips now kissing her, applying pressure and parting her lips as the kiss deepened, his tongue emerging to tease her's into play. Seconds passed into minutes as they kissed and explored, lips parting wider while tongues chased and played, awareness of anything beyond that contact ignored, almost to the point of disaster.   
The first knock at the door was unheard, the second only heard a second before the door opened. Jamie instantly ducked her head, Mitch's hands landing once more on her head as the person doing the knocking entered the cabin. Without seeing their equally flushed faces, Lord Reiden took in the scene at face value, seeing Mitch apparently examining the boy's torn up head.  
“How is the patient?” Reiden boomed, Mitch recovering quickly and letting his fingers dance over Jamie's scalp as if examining it.   
“As you can see for yourself, m'lord. The cuts are healing well and the hair has started to grow back at last.”  
Reiden stepped forward and peered at Jamie's head, seeing the patchy, tufted scalp above the vulnerable neck. “Hhmmm, he did make a mess of the poor boy. Glad it's getting better. How's my prize hunter, Morgan?”  
Dismissed, Jamie shuffled backward to the bunk bed and sat down, while Mitch got up and went out into the corridor with his employer to talk horses. The door was almost shut, so Jamie took as little time as possible to get into her nightshirt and scramble up the ladder and under the covers, leaving her bindings on until she was under the sheets, only then unwinding the strips in secret and bundling them under her pillow. She listened to the low murmur of voices, catching a few words but most of the conversation was too low for her to hear. She was still tingling from that forbidden kiss, so nearly caught by Lord Reiden. She shivered to think what would have happened then. Either she would have been unmasked as a woman, or worse, she would confirm that she was being used by Mitch as his bumboy. She knew little enough about how men reacted to such behavior, in other men, after all, there wouldn't be a need for such boys if men didn't have the urge to use them. Possibly it was because of the lack of women that necessitated the use of young boys as substitutes, but then no one aboard the ship had approached her for such services, so maybe that wasn't true? Then again, they'd been island hopping since leaving Portugal, so maybe the crew have gone ashore and used the available women there, unknown or unseen by her up to now. Lord Reiden certainly seemed quite capable of going for some time without female companions, as had Mitch, so maybe she simply didn't know all that much. The drone of male voices beyond the door made her doze lightly, so she didn't notice when they stopped.   
Mitch re-entered the cabin and shut the door behind him. Damn and blast that had been a close call. If Reiden had caught him kissing Jamie...his thoughts trailed off, going down a similar path to Jamie's of a few minutes before. Looking up at the top bunk he could see that she had drifted off to sleep, her sweet face in repose, one hand tucked under her cheek. He wished he could just climb up there and join her under the covers and keep on kissing that mouth until they both surrendered to the inevitable. Dammit, but she was a temptation almost beyond his ability to refuse.   
Moving quietly he got ready for bed, eventually laying under the covers of the bottom bunk and staring up at the slats of the bed above him, reliving the kiss in all its erotic intensity and wishing for the moon. 

As they steamed towards their first landfall, that wasn't also an island, since Portugal, Mitch purposely avoided a repeat of the situation that could have been so disastrous, more so for Jamie, but still would have raised complications they didn't need. Jamie was kept busy keeping the three cabins of Lord Reiden's, Mr. Blacks and their own neat and clean, doing the laundry, cleaning the bathrooms and helping out the cook on the odd occasion. Mitch was kept busy in constant discussions about the expeditions growing closer with every day, plus what they thought they might be able to get in the markets of Sierra Leone. Days passed and the temperatures rose with each nautical mile south towards the equator. Having to wear three layers when you included her tight banding, made Jamie suffer more than most. The crew could strip off down to their trousers and work shirtless, pulling up buckets of icy seawater to cool off. The passengers were not so liberal with their dress, the men wearing just their shirts for sure, but still buttoned up, the most liberal exposure of skin being rolling their sleeves up to expose the forearm. Ceiling fans that until now had remained unused, were not running to move air through the small cabins and enclosed spaces to provide relief. On the hottest nights, it was not unknown for crew and passengers to sleep on the deck to take advantage of the cooler air before the sun-scorched everything again. A canvas sail was rigged over where the horses were housed so the deck covers could be removed, but keep the animals still in the shade while letting in the sea air to keep the below deck space cool and fresh. Large squares of fabric were also dunked in the sea, then hung up from the deck plates to lower the temperature via evaporation down in the hold, alleviating conditions for the animals.   
Lord Reiden had a shaded seating area set up on the forecastle where any of the passengers, Jamie included, could sit and take advantage of the relief from the sun and enjoy the constant breeze from their forward momentum. The decks would be washed down to cool the timbers and a bucket of sea waters used to cool down a pottery flagon of plain water to provide cool drinks and soft clothes to mop foreheads and faces.  
At last, land was sighted and they started on the dangerous approach to the busy harbor of Freetown on the Senegal River mouth. The area was renowned for shifting sandbanks and a pilot was sent out to help the Captain navigate to the inner port in Kru Bay, past the Cape of Sierra Leone, Aberdeen Hill, and the colourfully named Pirate Bay, all the time weaving between ships anchored off the shore, the houses reaching to the beach and covering the hillsides. The navigable channel was narrow which was why they needed a pilot, the potential to run aground all too easy without intimate knowledge of the sandbanks and currents running in the different bays.   
Once they reached Kru Bay they anchored and were immediately surrounded by smaller boats looking to trade or offer to take passengers and goods to shore. There were so many of the small boats it looked like a person could walk from ship to shore and never get their boots wet. Jamie hung over the railing and listened to the vendors advertise their wares, sometimes singing to attract attention, young boys bringing samples of the fruit to the side of the ship, diving off the smaller flat dugouts and clambering up the ladder as nimble as monkeys, the crew handing over a few coins for the slices of melon or bunches of fruit, the air filled with laughter and cries of surprise, the boys diving off the high side of the ship, somersaulting and backflipping before swimming back to their boats for more.   
Hours later and the floating traffic had all but gone, moved on to try their luck with the next ship to appear, the more serious business of ferrying goods back and forth taking over, barrels of fresh water brought aboard to replenish the tank, fresh hay for the horses along with fresh feed, coal and oil for the engines. Several of the crew were involved in diving down to inspect the screw and propellor shaft for any damage, while others were doing maintenance on the engines below or on the ship itself. Jamie had been handed a small tin of paint and was repainting the exterior window frames accessible from the top deck, the paint drying as soon as it was applied in the heat of the day. That done she took her lunch to the forward deck and sat in the shade watching the crew, some of the black gang appearing on deck and taking a dive off the side of the ship to wash off the coal dust and grease from working in the heat of the engine hold. It became a competition between the men as to who could perform the most extreme dive off the ship, accompanied by yells and holla's until the huge splash when they hit the water's surface, occasioning cheers from those watching.   
Jamie looked around the ship, wondering when Mitch would return. He'd gone ashore with Lord Reiden and the photographer to discuss specific supplies that might not be available at their final landing on the Congo River at Boma. Given how much was already packed away in the hold of the ship, it amazed her that there was any space left for anything else. She fanned herself slowly, wishing she could take off her jacket in the increasing heat, her face pink with perspiration. Mitch had reminded her to drink more water to counteract the effects of the heat and perspiring and she'd done her best, but the sun was just too hot and she let her chin fall on her chest, her hat adding more shade for her face, but exposing her nape, a dangerous position.   
There was a flurry of activity on deck a couple of hours later when Lord Reiden returned, not only with his companions in tow, but with several boats following along behind loaded to the gunwales with crates, both long and square, and very heavy. While Lord Reiden supervised the unloading of the boats, Mitch went in search of Jamie, the cook directing him to the foredeck where the lad was napping. He absently patted his pocket to reassure himself the gift was still there before climbing up to the shaded deck. Jamie was there, laying on her side, her hat still on, but no sign of movement, despite him calling her name. He moved forward and touched her shoulder to rouse here, surprised that she wasn't already awake from all the noise of the crew unloading the new supplies.   
“Jamie?” he shook her shoulder, the wretched woman still not responding to his attempts to wake her. He lifted the hat away from her face and noticed how pink and flushed she looked, perspiration soaking her hair and scarf, as well as the hat where it circled her head. “Jamie?” he tried to rouse her, tapping her cheek, but she remained unresponsive, her body and extremities limp. He looked around and could see no evidence that she'd been drinking recently. “Dammit.” Mitch touched her face with the back of his hand, the heat coming off her ringing alarm bells. Loosening the high collar of her jacket and undershirt, he felt for a pulse, the beat faster than it should be if she was truly resting. “Goddammit!” Mitch started to unbutton her jacket to get it off, shouting for help. One of the crew appeared at his elbow.   
“Lad got a touch of the sun?”  
“Yes. I need several buckets of cold seawater and a jug of drinking water.” The man turned to go. “And towels. I need to get his temperature down!” The man ran off to do his bidding. Mitch peeling the jacket off Jamie's arms, then turning to take off her shoes and socks. Several other sailors appeared with the requested buckets of seawater and Mitch started to scoop handfuls over Jamie's head, soaking the scarf. He poured more handfuls over her neck and chest, soaking the cotton shirt. He instructed one of the crew to lift her feet and place them directly in the bucket of water, the better to cool her blood. By now several members of the crew were standing around so he sent them away, keeping just one with him to help cool his patient and avoid the deadly dangers of heatstroke. By the time the drinking water and towels arrived, Jamie was soaked in seawater from head to toe. It was the cook, who'd brought the additional supplies, who sent the other man away about his business and stayed with the doc to attend to the 'lad'. Mitch was glad to see the man, removing the need to explain why the boy had bandaging around his chest, obvious now his shirt was soaked to the skin.   
“Keep pouring the water over his arms and legs, that will help cool his blood as it circulates,” Mitch instructed the cook, bending down to listen to Jamie's heart rate to see if it was lowering at all. He soaked the corner of a towel in the freshwater and squeezed a small trickle between her lips, massaging her throat to encourage her to swallow the life-giving liquid. The cook was muttering to himself as he poured handfuls of water over the hands and feet of the patient.   
“There's always one that succumbs to the tropics. Doesn't matter how many times you warn 'em.”  
Mitch glanced up at the man. “Just hope we caught it in time.”  
The cooling was, at long last, having an effect, Jamie opening her eyes to blink up and squint at the sun overhead behind the canvas. “What happened?” She looked down at herself. “Why am I all wet?” She made to sit up but Mitch pressed his hand to her chest to keep her laying down.   
“You got a bit overheated, we had to cool you down in a hurry. If you sit up, you'll likely pass out or be sick, so just lay there and relax, let the water do its thing.” He held the soaked towel to her lips and she dutifully sucked the fresh water from it, her eyes gazing up at him, blinking slowly, her feelings for him plain to see for anyone close enough to look. The cook glanced up at the doctor and saw a similar besotted expression on his face. Shaking his head he suddenly started to throw the water about a little too enthusiastically.  
“Lord Reiden is 'ere!” he hissed, his companions instantly breaking their visual contact, Jamie shutting hers to feign a swoon, Mitch looking over his shoulder to see their mutual employer advancing across the deck.   
“Problem, Morgan?” His lordship stared down at the body on the deck. “What's up with the lad now?”  
“Just a touch of heatstroke, m'lord. The boy is unaccustomed to the extreme heat and the strength of the sun. He'll come around any moment, now we've cooled him down.”  
Jamie complied with the request and made a performance of groaning a little and blinking up in confusion at the faced peering down at him.   
“Wot 'happened?” she asked in her best urchin accent.  
“Touch of the sun, the doctor says. You'll have to be more careful, me lad. We've yet to cross the equator and at this rate, you'll be dead before you do!” Lord Reiden laughed out loud at his own joke, Mitch nodding to the cook who, between them, helped Jamie to her feet where she stood, soaked but much cooler, blinking at the ship and the bright ocean surrounding them with some confusion.   
“I don't feel very well,” she announced, Mitch hurriedly bending her over so she could throw up on the deck at his feet. Lord Reiden hurriedly retreated.   
“Can you manage, Morgan?”  
“I'll take the lad back to the cabin and let him rest. He'll be fine as long as he avoids the direct sun as much as possible,” Mitch explained, his hand resting on Jamie's back while she wretched, still bent over. A crew member appeared with another fresh bucket of seawater which was used to sluice away the water and bile Jamie had brought up. Once Lord Reiden had gone, Mitch bent and picked Jamie up, the cook draping a towel over her head and shoulders to protect from the sun.   
“Leave this for me, we'll get the place cleaned up. You take the...er...lad and tend to him.” The cook motioned the other crewman over, and they started to wash the deck down while Mitch carried a limp Jamie down the narrow stairs to the deck below.  
Back at the cabin, he sat her on the camp chair and started to strip off her clothes. She batted at his hands but he assured her he'd locked the door, closed the curtains and he'd seen it all before. That only partially mollified her, because the last time she'd been unaware of his ministration, this time she was fully conscious and could feel a blush starting from her toes up to her limited amount of hair as he unwrapped her bindings to reveal her flattened breasts, then pulled down her trousers and drawers leaving her naked and exposed. He didn't dwell on her charms but quickly wrapped her in a towel and dried her off, manfully ignoring the expanse of silky skin before his eyes. Once dry, he encased her in her nightshirt, keeping the cuffs and neckline unbuttoned before putting her to bed in the bottom bunk to take advantage of any air moving through the open window from the fan overhead. Once between the cool sheets, she felt considerably better and was able to take several sips of water and keep it down. Mitch also rummaged in his medical bag and found his supply of salt tablets, necessary to aid in recovery from dehydration. Over the next hour, Jamie sipped both the plain water and salted water, her need to get up and pee an indication that she was recovering well from the near brush with heatstroke. When she returned from the head, Mitch allowed her to rest, leaving her to sleep while he reported her condition to Lord Reiden.   
When she next awoke it was dark and the steamship was underway, the rumble of the engines a sound she was all too familiar with, along with the constant rattling spin of the fan overhead. Feeling hungry she got out of bed and switched the room light on, finding a tray had been left for her on the small folding table, a fine net cover protecting the tray from any flies or insects that chose to investigate. There was also a pitcher of water with slices of lemon along with some sprigs of fresh mint floating in it. Her stomach felt settled, so she cautiously, with little bites, consumed the fluffy scrambled eggs covering the small plate. As that showed no signs of returning, she drank some of the flavored water and nibbled at the water crackers put there to tempt her appetite. Soon there was little left to consume and Jamie sat in the camp chair feeling quite back to normal. The door to the cabin opened and Mitch entered, pleased to see her up and about.   
“I'm about to go and have my dinner, but I wanted to check on you first.” He stepped forward and placed an affectionate kiss on the crown of her head. “How are you feeling?”  
“Much better. As you can see, my appetite returned.” She indicated the near-empty tray.   
“Good. And keep drinking that water. If you can eat the bits of lemon and mint, even better.”  
“Yes, Doctor,” Jamie replied pertly, very aware that she wore nothing under the nightshirt. “Would you care to test my temperature?”  
Mitch frowned, then stepped back to shut the cabin door. “Do you have reason to think it might be elevated?”  
Jamie felt emboldened and thrust her chest out, pushing her breasts against the thin cotton of the concealing nightshirt. “I'll let you be the judge.” She saw heat leap into his eyes, when she stood up and turned to face him, the hard points of her breasts clearly visible.   
Mitch stepped closer and lowered his head, meeting her mouth in a burning kiss while he wrapped her in his arms, holding her close against his own shirt covered chest, his hands spread over her back from her shoulders blades to the base of her spine, just above her buttocks.   
Pressed hard up against the length of his body, Jamie could feel his male anatomy respond to her, pressing for release from his confining trousers while his hands smoothed lovingly over her back, his mouth never leaving hers not even for a breath. It was like drowning and flying all in the one experience.   
Mitch eventually pulled back, dragging his hands around her body before letting go, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. “I have to go. Reiden will be waiting for me.”  
“I know. I'll probably be asleep when you get back, so I'll see you in the morning?”  
“Yeah. Sure. You betcha...” Mitch replied thickly, taking a step back, never taking his eyes off her as if to imprint her on his memory forever. “Sweet dreams.” It was only when he had left the cabin and closed the door, resting his forehead briefly on the timbers while he fought to regain his composure, did he consider how much he was playing with fire, each kiss and touch drawing them closer towards an inevitable intimacy between them in the near future.  
Only when his pulse had steadied and his body subsided did he rake back his hair, adjust his glasses and head for the officers mess to partake of a meal.


	5. On Firmer Ground

Chapter Five – On Firmer Ground

They were steaming along the coast, still not having crossed the equator as yet, hugging the land that defined the Gulf of Guinea. It was eight hundred nautical miles give or take to Accra where they would only stop long enough to refuel and take on water before heading a stretch of five hundred nautical miles south through the Gulf, crossing the equator after their second to last port of call of Sao Tome, or St.Thomas island, another brief stop before the final five hundred and thirty nautical miles to Boma.  
By the time they arrived at the Congo River, they would have traveled over four thousand nautical miles since leaving Lisbon, Portugal, their last point of European civilization. Since then they had been traveling the same routes as the earliest explorers, missionaries, pirates, slavers, and colonist, working their way down the African west coast, island hopping until reaching Freetown. Now they were nearing their last ten days or so before arriving at the start of their expedition proper.   
They were sailing through warm waters and hot days, Jamie's brush with heat exhaustion a salutary lesson to all of the crew to not play games with the sun and to drink more. Being more used to crossing the North Atlantic with its storms and icy winds, they were all ill-prepared for the physicality of the heat, like a living thing in their lives now, to be considered a risk and potential danger as much as icebergs and hurricanes in more northerly climes. Work needed doing was no longer done in the midday sun but was rescheduled for late in the day or early in the morning before the heat bit hard. The engine room crew, including the stokers, were rotated out of the suffocating heat on an hourly basis, buckets of cold sea water kept aside for them to sluice off and cool down before returning an hour later to their duties. Everyone went about in the minimum of clothing, considering it was supposedly an all-male ship, so Jamie became almost inured to the sights of naked torso's and avoided those times when the engineers came up top and stripped down before sluicing off naked during their breaks. For the most part, she kept to the upper decks and the cabins, going about her chores at a slower pace, resting when necessary and drinking to keep hydrated. Hot drinks were abandoned for jugs of lemon flavored water. Corked flagons were often lowered on ropes, wrapped in sacking, to drag beside the ship until cold, then pulled up and served immediately. Bathing became a necessity, Jamie often retiring during the day to sponge off the sweat under her arms and elsewhere to keep from experiencing excessive body odor, although the men didn't seem to bother that much. She also took to going barefoot wherever possible to give her feet a rest from being cooped up in her socks and shoes and developing fungal growth. She found a saltwater foot bath was also helpful, something the other men in their party from grooms to Lord Reiden did on Doctor Morgan's advise to avoid developing foot-rot. As the days passed, the pace of life adapted to the climate, the cook creating an outdoor kitchen area to prepare and cook their food, Jamie often helping with ferrying food-stuffs and utensils from the stifling galley below decks up to the makeshift pantry above.  
The nights were a welcome respite from the overpowering heat, although it was more a rest from the blinding sun than the heat itself. Even with the windows and doors wide open and the fan rotating at its top speed, the cabins were small ovens with their occupants coming up with ways and means to keep cool. Dampened pillowcases for hotheads, only a sheet for a cover and sleeping naked wherever possible. The first time Jamie had slept without a stitch on it had been both an embarrassment and a revelation. Mitch had suggested it after listening to her complaints about the heat, snapping that she might as well shed her nightshirt to get some relief. Shocked, she had done just that, throwing the bundled up shirt at his head after ducking under the sheet. When Mitch appeared out of the shirt he looked up at her sitting up on the top bunk, her sheet trapped over the top of her breasts and under her arms, but not hiding the fact she was now naked just above his head. He threw the shirt back at her.  
“Keep it, you'll not want to use the toilet without something to cover you.” In the glaring light of the electric bulb, he let his eyes wander over her bared shoulders, the clearly defined collar bones and slender arms. With a wicked lift of his dark eyebrow, he started to unbutton his shirt, baring his chest before her mesmerized gaze. Giving the item of clothing a quick rinse in the sink, he hung it up on the makeshift line that currently held her shirt and washed socks, alongside now his own.   
“I'm warning you now, I'll be sleeping naked as well. I don't intend to boil in this heat just to preserve your modesty.” He started to unbutton the fall of his trousers, Jamie watching every twist of his fingers against the buttons, her eyes wide and wondering. Just before he lowered his linens he reached for the light switch and plunged the cabin into semi-gloom. Jamie let out a squeak and pulled the sheet up over her head, listening to the rustle of clothing as Mitch took off his undershorts before getting onto the bottom bunk to stretch out completely naked. The flow of cool air across his skin was a small consolation, the image of Jamie naked under the sheet in the bed above making his body respond in ways designed to keep him awake and in a state of heated arousal for some time to come.   
Jamie became used, over the days to come, to seeing quite a bit of Mitch's body during the nighttime hours, the wretch not bothering to cover up when he had to go and use the toilet in the dark, his body sometimes outlined by moonlight when he returned, her observations of his body as discreet as she could make them. It was such a strange experience to be sleeping in the same room with a naked man but with no hint of the intimacy you'd expect under normal circumstances. As the nights passed, the desire to find out how that hair-roughened skin felt against her own smooth flesh started to be almost obsessive. She became attuned to how his body sounded when he moved on the bed below her, how it moved in the darkness as he padded in and out of the room, she watched him move around the cabin in darkness and in daylight when he rose early, thinking her still asleep and went through a series of stretches, his muscles moving under the pale skin on his chest and his back. She knew how his sex looked in its quiescent state and fully aroused, a common sight in those early mornings, the dawn light muted and soft but showing his body to her in all its glory and masculinity. She wondered if he obsessed over her naked form the way that she did about his. Did he long to touch her? Smooth his hands over her skin, stroke his fingers over her flesh, kneading and squeezing before brushing like butterflies to tease and torment. Was his skin as soft as hers? Did it feel like velvet or like leather, smooth but firm, and what did his cock feel like? She could only say the word in her head, not out loud. Did it feel as hard as it looked in the mornings, or soft and lax when he was calm? Was it true that it was supposed to fit inside her? Surely not. 

Gradually, as each day passed, her ability to cope in the high temperatures became better, her strategies to deal with the sweat she produced and keep her body cool worked, making her as comfortable as possible during the day and at night. The ship was never far from the dark heights of the coastline, meeting and passing other vessels following a similar course, always heading due south, inching incrementally towards their final destination. Accra was uneventful, the usual flotilla of small dugouts meeting the ship anchored off the shore, the flock of dark traders shouting and tending their wares, some of them showing off bushmeat, some recognizable as some breed of monkey, others brandishing large fruit bats, goat and deer meat cuts. Some were so fresh they were still dripping blood, while others looked like they'd been smoked or cured. Jamie was glad to see that their own cook waved away the 'meat' boats and encouraged those with more acceptable sources of meat, usually live chickens to replenish their diminished supplies along with bags of eggs. Up until now, she hadn't questions where the cook sourced his meat for the stews they'd been eating, now she wondered how much of the meat was more exotic that she was used to eating. Their loading was done quickly and without fuss, the ship leaving the port with the next tide, riding the currents out to sea and heading true south, a day or two away from reaching St.Thomas island and then crossing the equator. 

Their stop at the tropical island, off the coast of Gabon in the Bight of Biafra was brief but memorable for its exotic jungle appearance, towering volcanic peaks, friendly natives, and abundant palm trees. Being only sixty-nine miles north of the equator they would anchor until the morning then start their last section of the journey, expecting to land in Boma, on the Congo River in three days time. 

Only two of the crew had actually crossed the invisible line before, the rest of the ship all new to the stylised ritual. With only two to act out the different characters, they instead set up a large canvass 'bath' to baptize those who were having their first crossing, blessed by King Neptune as the moment occurred. It would happen in the early morning, so everyone was told to expect a saltwater dunking on this occasion. Even Lord Reiden got into the act and presented himself, along with the rest of the company to be 'welcomed' across the equator into the southern hemisphere by King Neptune and his 'daughter', one of the stokers with his face blackened even darker than usual and dressed in a grass skirt. One by one the initiates were daubed in a mixture of coal dust and glue, made with flour and water, from their heads to their feet, then made to dance a jig before being dunked in the seawater bath to loud cheers and applause. Jamie was in a ferment of nervousness, poked into a line like all the rest, but dreading the dunking to come. She hadn't dared ask to be excused because that would have seemed odd, as even Lord Reiden was being a good sport and allowing himself to be treated thusly. Soon enough it was her turn to be pushed and pulled about, a rough bristled paintbrush used to coat her with the thick black goo, plenty going up her nose and between her teeth. Then, half blinded and spitting to clear her mouth, she was lifted bodily and dropped into the, by now, filthy sea water and disappeared from sight for a second before spluttering to the surface amid loud cheers and yelling, her initiation complete. Glad to have survived, she accepted the rough cloth handed to her to clean her face and watched as several of the burly sailors performed a rough dance, music supplied by the cook and his squeezebox accordion. Soon the captain was shouting at the crew to get back to work, others told to clean up the mess on the deck while the passengers went back to their cabins to clean themselves up. After using a couple of buckets of fresh water to sluice off, Jamie changed into dry clothes and went to collect the now filthy laundry that would need rinsing and drying. To that end, she was given a helping hand, the enormous pile of clothes first rinsed with sea water to get off the coal dust and glue, then a soft wash in fresh water with soap chips to make it wearable before being hung up to dry. For a time, the steamship looked more like a Chinese laundry with lines strung up everywhere to dry the numerous shirts and trousers from passengers and crew, the heat drying them all within an hour or so. Then it was a matter of getting them down, folding them neatly and leaving them for the crew to collect their own, along with Reiden's staff, while Jamie took his lordship's, Mitch's, the photographer's and her own back to the cabins.   
Jamie sat on the edge of the bottom bunk and hugged her sun-warmed clothes to her chest, glad that she'd passed through the crossing of the equator without mishap. She was still accepted as a boy, no one other than Mitch or the cook knowing her true gender or identity. Tired out from the heat and her exertions she lay down, still clutching her laundry, and dozed off. 

Jamie hung on the rail, staring at the thick jungle passing almost within arms reach, it seemed, off the deck of the Watana, the chug of the engines not enough to drown out the hoots and calls of animals and birds rising from the impenetrable greenery. They had been traveling on the Congo River for the best part of a day, the banks of the three-mile-wide estuary gradually drawing closer the further inland they progressed, the seventy miles from sea to city already covered by half. Their initial approach into the mouth of the river left the banks as misty dark smudges on either side, too far to make out details. Then, as the river mouth narrowed, they made out thick vegetation, mangrove swamps for the most part, punctuated with rough looking houses on stilts, apparently the abode of fishing families. The further inland they steamed the more people they saw, most of them paddling long, narrow canoes some distance from the center of the river where the Watana sailed, heading towards the city of Boma still miles yet ahead. Soon they were threading their way through braided waterways between mangrove covered low islands, flocks of birds rising up into the air, the occasional dark shape cleaving through the water, low sweeps of yellow sand bordering some of the saturated islands with more dark, reptilian shapes basking in the sun, looking up lazily as the ship floated past, mouths open to display their impressive teeth. The blast of the ships horn cut the air, making her jump in surprise. She leaned forward to see ahead and saw that they were past the islands and approached a settlement in the distance, the spire of a church just visible above the buildings. The river traffic increased with more native boats congesting the water, a collection of smaller steamboats moored beside the river bank, waiting for passengers or loads to carry further upriver where the bigger ships were barred.  
They had arrived, they were there and about to embark on the real expedition.

The ship was met by a delegation from Lord Reiden's company, the agents carrying their employer off the wharf in a raised palanquin supported by half a dozen burly natives. Mitch and Mr. Black walked alongside, people appearing along the roadside to cheer on the procession until is reached the company offices, there to deposit Reiden and his associates.  
Jamie watched it all from the ship, drinking in the sights and smells of the inland port, watching the natives carrying goods and supplies on their heads, woman and men acting as porters, ferrying the crates and bales to a wooden clad warehouse further along from where the ship was docked. Faded writing on the side of the building proclaimed it to belong to GDJ International with smaller writing, barely legible, spelling out the name Reiden Global. She turned away to watch the lifting of the horses from the hold of the ship, the animals blindfolded to help alleviate any panic during the process, their first feel of firm ground under the feet resulting in stumbling and staggering as they tried to compensate for the lack of movement under their hooves. The grooms kept the blindfolds on until the animals were off the wharf, the act of walking getting easier the further onto the dry ground they progressed, both man and beast becoming more accustomed to being on land. One by one the horses were reintroduced to being on stable ground, each animal reacting in subtlely different ways, but all finding their land legs within a reasonable time. Stables had been created behind the agent's office within the township, the rest of their supplies stored in the warehouse on the dock. Jamie finally had a use for her suitcase, packing up her clothes and few belongings and setting them aside before packing up Mitch's belongings in his trunk brought up from the hold. When that was done, she went to Lord Reiden's room and started on his belongings, doing her best with his clothes, having no real idea how a valet would do it differently. Not only did his belongings have to be packed, but the contents of the cabin as well, especially the mattress and bedding. Once they were rolled, tied and wrapped in canvas, the mattress and luggage were all moved out to the deck by several of the crew, along with Mr. Black's, who had packed his before he left the boat, taking his precious camera bag with him. Once the horses were unloaded, it was time for the luggage, carried off the steamship by several bearers, lifting the trunks with ease. Jamie held on to her own suitcase, not wanting to part with it for a moment. Cook appeared on deck, watching the proceedings, he saw Jamie and sauntered over.   
“So. You're on ya way.”  
Jamie nodded, watching as a pallet of long wooden boxes swung over the side to be placed on a cart pulled by horned bullocks. Cook saw the direction of her stare.  
“You know it's right dangerous for anyone out there. There be cannibals and battlin' tribesman, headhunters an' pygmies...”  
“Pygmies?”  
The cook held his hand level with his waist. “Only as tall as kids, so I've heard.”  
“Then they're hardly likely to be a danger.”  
“There's killer hippo, man-eating lions, poison darts, deadly snakes....”  
Jamie held up her hand. “Did you think I wasn't afraid enough of what's ahead that you had to scare the living daylights out of me?”  
Cook shrugged. “Just wanted you to know what you were up against. We'll be sailing back to Lisbon in a week or so. You could sail back with us?”  
Jamie gave a quick look around the deck, then leaned forward and kissed the old man on the cheek. “Thank you for worrying. There's nothing for me to go back to, but I appreciate the offer.”  
The cook's face went a shade deeper than its usual ruddy color. “Look after yourself, missy. Stick close to your man, and do what he says. Boil your drinking water and don't eat anything you don't recognize. If you must eat something new, cook it thoroughly. Wash it, or peel it before you eat it. That mantra has kept me alive in some pretty rough and dirty places in this world.”  
“I'll remember.” A shout from the dock drew her attention. The other members of staff going on the Safari were gathered down there, waving to her. “I have to go.” She lifted her hand in a small wave to the other members of the crew, the cook watching her closely as she negotiated the gangplank with her second-hand suitcase, an intense look of concentration on her face.   
“Wotcha reckon, will she make it?”   
Cook looked up in surprise to see the Captain standing beside him, the end of a cheroot hanging from his lips. “How...?”  
“Like you, I'm not blind or stupid. Didn't see any point in letting on if no one else was going to.”  
“I told 'er we'd be here for the next week, so she might change 'er mind.”  
The Captain shook his head. “Not unless that doctor comes too.” He flicked away the dag end of his cheroot and slapped the cook on his meaty shoulder. “What local delicacy are you going to feed us, hungry workers, tonight?”  
“Crocodile.” Cook retorted darkly. The Captain laughed and walked away.

Jamie trailed after the grooms, her suitcase heavy in her hand. Dark skinned people were everywhere, in front of stalls, standing or crouching behind them, the stalls sometimes just the goods for sale spread out on the ground on top of a reed mat. There were people wearing a mixture of tribal and western clothes, fierce faces with close-cropped black hair, women with colourful beading around their necks, some of them wearing a length of brightly woven cloth wrapped around their bodies from their chests to the bare feet, children running naked around their mothers, shrieking and laughing, looking at the white-skinned strangers with round eyes and open mouths. The passing traffic of people lifted the yellow dust from the ground, creating a choking miasma, an open ditch at the side of the road full of rubbish, boys standing on the edge and pissing into the trickle of black water at the bottom. Dark eyes stared back at her, mothers with bared breasts feeding babies, uncaring of their nudity, men watching as the small party of khaki-clad servants headed for the most substantial building among the shanty town around it. The land around the river's edge had been flat, but now they climbed a short slope to reach the agents building, as well as other colonial buildings alongside it. Under her hat, sweat soaked her emerging regrowth, trickling down her forehead and running into her eyes. Pausing, she pulled a square of fabric out of her jacket pocket and mopped her face while the others continued up the road. She looked back at the ship, which was now below where she stood, looking smaller than she knew it to be. A thin plume of smoke still lifted from the stack, indicating the engines hadn't been shut down, probably so the vessel could move away from the dock and anchor somewhere further upstream or downstream to allow access to the wharf for other ships. Even now she could see another steamship making its way towards the landing, smoke streaming as its engines worked hard against the current flowing to the Atlantic. Looking beyond the lines of wood and straw huts dotted all along the roadside and on the riverbank, the vegetation was lush and dense, small area's hacked out to use for growing crops, surrounded by rickety wooden stick fences. It was all so alien to everything she knew, whether in America or England. This was Africa and it was likely there was much more strangeness to see and experience before she boarded a ship again. 

They were directed to a long, low hut with a thatched roof, the windows lacking any glass, just open to elements, the walls made of mud and daub, painted with whitewash. Stepping inside out of the sun, it took a few moments for Jamie to become accustomed to the gloom, seeing a large central room with a section of partitions acting as room dividers, each cubicle having a wire frame bed with a rolled up mattress on top. The grooms were muttering among themselves, dropping their suitcases and trunks beside a bed. Jamie, being last, was left with the smallest cubicle, the bed looking tired while the mattress was stained and dusty. Being in the corner she had a mud wall on two sides and a window in one. A strange net device hung over the bed, hooked away to the side. Some of the others were calling to each other, questioning the accommodations and what the nets were for.   
“Keeps the bloody mosquitoes from biting, see? It covers the bed, mostly...” one of the grooms explained. Jamie unhooked hers and held it out, noting the big holes that wouldn't keep out an elephant, let alone a tiny flying insect. She untied the knot of the rope holding the mattress and let it flop out onto the metal bed springs. She jumped back when something ran out and scuttled under the bed, almost across her feet. Stuffing her fist in her mouth she stifled a shriek, taking a step back from the bed frame, hoping that whatever was under there, stayed there. The grooms were leaving the building and she backed away before turning to follow them. Mitch was talking to the men outside, sending them off to see to settling the horses into their new stables, leaving him alone with Jamie when she appeared in the doorway. He noted her white face and shaky smile.   
“What happened?”  
“Oh, nothing. Something was making a nest in my mattress, it ran out when I unrolled it.”  
“Ran?”  
“Probably a rat...or something.”  
“Get your suitcase, you can bunk with me again. Lord Reiden, Gordon and I are staying at the agent's home so hurry up, you can come with us.”  
Jamie dashed off and grabbed her suitcase, not caring about the blisters starting to rise on her hand as she lugged it outside. Mitch instantly took it from her and started to walk towards the colonial style building off to the side. Instead of going in, he walked around the corner to where a carriage stood waiting, a couple of dusty horses hitched up to it. A black man sat on the roof and Mitch tossed up her suitcase to join the others already stacked there. With that done, the man jumped down, giving Mitch a broad white smile before climbing up onto the driver's bench.  
“You'll have to ride with the driver,” Mitch told her, indicating the high seat.   
Jamie looked up then set her mouth in a tight line and started to climb up the wheel, Mitch helping with a boost of his hand on her bottom, waiting until she was settled on the well-sprung, cracked leather seat before turning away. Mitch ran up the wooden steps and disappeared inside, leaving Jamie to sit beside the driver and watch the horses twitch their tails to drive away the irritating flies. Minutes later Lord Reiden appeared along with Mitch and the photographer, as well as the company agent, all of them climbing into the carriage. A tap on the roof indicated for the driver to set off, the coach lurching into movement, the horses quickly settling into a steady trot, heading off along a dirt road away from the riverside and further into the lush greenery inland from the port. Women and men walked along the edge of the roadway, nearly all with goods and belongings balanced on their heads. Huge trees over-hung the road providing welcome shade as they rattled along, the native huts interspersed with the occasional more sophisticated buildings provided for overseers and agents for other companies that used Boma as their base of operations. Factories for different products were spaced along the riverside in both directions, some of them processing the raw product ready for loading on ships to be transported to countries around the world, other's simply warehouses to store bales of crops waiting to be auctioned off to Captains for selling on their trips back to wherever they came from, or to take further on south to Capetown or around the horn. All of this Jamie would learn in the coming days, but for now, she was looking in all directions, taking it all in and staring at everything. Dirt roads peeled off from the main road they were on, the 'streets' lined with huts and houses, the settlement quite large, chickens and goats plus dogs wandering up and down the pathways, children and women sitting outside their dwellings using long poles in deep wooden pots to grind up corn or process plantain and other roots for their meals. The steady thumping rhythm underpinning songs, snatches of which Jamie heard as they trotted past. They jogged noisily over a bridge, the stream bordered thickly with reeds, a woman harvesting the whippy leaves, another sitting among them and crafting baskets in situ. Everywhere you looked people were going about their everyday business of living, producing, working but all done in a level of heat and humidity that was almost unbearable for those not used to it.   
They were still climbing and in the distance, Jamie could see several houses clustered together on a hilltop. They gleamed white with red or metal rooves, tall palm trees around them providing shade. The carriage turned into a driveway and they trotted up to the first house, a black woman bent over sweeping off the porch with a whisk. As the carriage approached and slowed down she stood up, the whisk consigned to lean against a corner while she walked down the steps and waited for the carriage to stop before opening the door.   
“Welcome home, masser.”  
The agent stepped down first. “Thank you, Sophy. Go get Joseph to help Sam with the luggage, will you?”  
The woman hurried off around the side of the house. The agent stood to the side while his guests climbed out of the coach.  
“We live quite tolerably here in the heights, what breeze there is finds its way up here so it's not so noisome or dusty as the town.” He indicated for them to follow, Mitch hanging back to wait for Jamie to descend.   
“Go with the servants with the luggage, they'll show you our rooms, then rest up. This heat is extremely sapping and you need to drink as well.”  
“Yes, masser,” Jamie muttered behind his back as he strode off to follow the others into the cool depths of the house. When the other two servants arrived she helped with the unloading, taking her own suitcase and a small bundle and following the coach driver, Sam, around the side and into a separate entrance.   
Inside, the house was blessedly cool and dark, Sam leading the way up a back stair to the bedrooms, indicating which one would belong to which guest so that Jamie could deposit the right cases to the right rooms. Her own room was to be a box room off the one Mitch was using, a small divan bed set up for a maid or valet of whoever was staying. Jamie directed the rest of the cases then went back downstairs to the kitchen to procure the stipulated drink, receiving a tall glass of lemonade that had been kept cool in a well, set in its own outhouse just beyond the kitchen. It tasted heavenly and she downed the lot before dragging herself up the stairs to her room. Drained by the heat she spread a cover over the divan, not wanting to stain it with sweat, and lay down, glad to shed her hat, headscarf and outer jacket, as well as her shoes and socks. Much more comfortable, she closed her  
eyes, the sound of strange bird calls and the loud buzz of insects in the trees outside following her into sleep. 

“We are expecting more men to arrive every day,” the agent, Cyrus Collins told them. “They are looking to start work on the first narrow gauge railway section within the month and more consulates have opened here than anywhere else.”  
“So, business is booming in Boma,” Reiden retorted, laughing at his own joke.   
“Yes, m'lord. Leopold is keeping a tight watch over us, as he does all non-Belgium companies, but so far our contract is holding, as long as we pay on time.”  
Reiden nodded. “I've seen the reports. Now, tell me who you have arranged to lead our expedition?”  
Collins sat forward. “I was in luck. I've engaged two very experienced men, an American and an African. Both have extensive backgrounds crossing Africa from coast to coast. They are well versed in the local languages as well as being highly experienced big game trackers.”  
“Good. I intend to bag a few trophies on this trip, to add to my...er...collection!!” Again Lord Reiden laughed, probably at the prospect of his staff having to find space for more stuffed heads on the already crowded walls of his hall.   
“You'll get to meet them tomorrow.”

Mitch looked in on Jamie and smiled to see her curled up on the divan. They would stay at the agent's house for a couple of days, to give the horses a chance to become accustomed to being on solid ground once more, and the increased humidity. Horses were still not common on the continent, the pair used for the carriage shipped up from Capetown, South Africa. Usually, manpower was used to pull the carts around town, water buffalo bullocks used for loads simply beyond man-power alone to handle. The timber mill outside town used them to pull the train-wheeled trolleys along the track to the wharf built for loading timber aboard ships. Already, the land around Boma was being cleared of its trees, leaving only Baobab's to rise above the small enclosures, the wood no use for commercial export or building. Everywhere was evidence of various enterprises, small block farmers growing cacao and rice, the ground rich from frequent flooding, the river dumping silt to enrich the soil. The highlands above the riverside settlement grew avenues of coconut palms, coffee plantations lining many of the dirt roads.   
Jamie awoke to find her bed surrounded by a fine, white netting suspended from a hook in the ceiling above. Finding the opening, she sat on the side of the divan and rubbed at her eyes to clear them of sleep. The light beyond the slatted window showed the sun was low in the sky, indicating she'd slept past lunch and afternoon tea. Her stomach rumbled loudly to remind her of this. Redressing into her jacket, socks, and shoes, and carrying her hat, she hurried down the back stair to the kitchen, the cook producing another glass of delicious lemonade which she guzzled down then asked where the toilet was. The house had basic plumbing but still relied on an outhouse for basic needs, the cook directing her outside. After using the rather primitive facilities, Jamie returned to the house to wash up before partaking of a meal. She hadn't seen Mitch or the other men since arriving and wondered what they were doing. Her meal done, she thanked the housekeeper and wandered outside, not ready to go back to her room yet. There wasn't much of a garden around the agent's house, but plenty of tall trees to provide a shady walk. A kitchen garden, fenced off with a mini palisade, showed off a variety of recognizable vegetables, while a small orchard of fruit and nut trees obviously provided for whoever was staying at the house at the time. Similar houses ranged on either side of the agents, most of them two stories, or one storey up on stalks with many steps to reach the living quarters. She assumed they were occupied by agents of other countries invested in West Africa, going by the different flags flapping from poles and rooftops. Colorful birds with gorgeous plumes fluttered and squawked overhead, while other noises were carried on the warm air from further inland, their origins unknown whether to bird or beast. Finding a bench under a tree, she sat down and stared back at the house. White stones had been laid around the bases of some of the trees providing a decorative effect, but there were no flowers, the only splash of color coming from the sun reflecting back from a window pane or one of the exotic birds flying across from treetop to treetop, catching the sun like a brilliant jewel. She stared at the ground with its patchy grass and wondered what the horses were expected to eat once the hay bales they'd brought with them, ran out. As the shadows stretched out and the sun disappeared below the hills, she heard the whine of insects and decided she'd had enough fresh air and it was time to go inside. 

Her bedroom overlooked the front of the house and she heard the people arrive, one after the other, their voices drifting up to her open window. She lay on the divan, under the netting, having done her nighttime ablutions and putting on her nightshirt. There was a commode set up behind a screen in the main bedroom to save her having to go outside after dark, another chore for her to take care of come morning. Someone was playing the piano downstairs and she listened to the thrum of voices trying to be heard over the music. She supposed that new faces were a cause for entertainment, hence the party, more so when one came with a title. Going by the size of the warehouse on the dock, Reiden Global was a big concern in Boma, so to have the owner visit was cause to celebrate. She had unpacked one of Mitch's trunks, the one with the books, and tried to tune out the noise below and concentrate on the novel, but it was hard going. There hadn't been many occasions in recent years for parties in Jamie's world, but she remembered other times when she was a lot younger when dressing up was still exciting and parties much anticipated by her and her friends. She dozed, the noise dying away as the guests set about the meal provided by the agent's kitchen staff. She was roused sometime later by the ruckus of the guests calling out good night to their host, Lord Reiden's booming voice adding to the farewells before everything went quiet again. Her candle had burnt down and she stubbed it out, putting the book on the floor and preparing to go to sleep. She had only laid down for a moment when the door to the bedroom slammed open, bouncing off the wall and shutting itself behind the shambling figure stumbling towards the bed. Jamie jumped up, afraid it was a drunken guest in the wrong room, but it wasn't, it was Mitch, too many sheets to the wind, tripping on the edge of a rub and falling onto his bed, giggling softly to himself.   
Jamie walked into the unlit room and stared at the man lying sprawled on the bed.   
“Enjoy yourself?” she asked, seeing his body jerk, not expecting a voice to belabor him out of the darkness.  
“Fuck. I forgot you were in the other room. Shit. Sorry. Did I wake you?” His slurred apology was followed by him sitting up, his hair mussed every which way and his glasses askew.   
Jamie went to the door to make sure it was shut before approaching the man on the bed.   
Mitch saw this out-of-focus, ghostlike figure approach across the floorboards and he stared at it, his mouth falling open. Blood started to pound through his head and he blinked to clear the blurriness.   
“Are you a ghost?” he asked, cocking his head to the side as if that would improve his vision.   
Jamie laughed, keeping her voice down in case anyone was listening on the other side of the wall.   
“No. It's me, Jamie.”  
Mitch smiled at her, his lips a bit lopsided and his dimples just creasing his cheek on one side.   
“Ah, yes. Jamie, the love of my life. Come and give me a kiss to send me to sleep...”  
Jamie approached but not close enough for him to reach her. “You've been drinking.”  
Mitch nodded in agreement. “I have. An excellent brandy on top of an excellent wine, with a whiskey chaser. Are there two of you?”  
Jamie smiled. “No. Just the one.”  
“Oh good. I can barely deal with one, let alone two Jamie Campbells. Mind you, it would be nice to be in the middle of a Jamie sandwich, don't you think?” He flung his arms out and promptly collapsed back upon the covers.   
Jamie folded her arms over her chest and sighed. “You can't go to bed fully clothed...at least take off your shoes.”  
Mitch immediately lifted one foot off the ground and held it out towards her. “Please?”  
She pulled off his shoes after undoing the laces, then the sock. He straight away lifted up his other foot and waggled it. She took that off too, leaving him barefoot. “Goodnight, Mitch.”  
He sat up again. “No. No. Don't go so soon. I haven't seen you all day. Help me get into my nightshirt?”  
Against her better judgment, she relented and turned back. She stood between his legs and unbuttoned his waistcoat, peeling that off his arms after he shrugged out of his jacket, then she attacked his collar and tie, placing the starch stiffened accessories on top of the waistcoat. Mitch held up his hands so she could undo the cuffs before she started on his shirt buttons. While she worked, she concentrated on the task, not the warm man sitting in front of her, his eyes never wavering from their inspection of her face and form in the semi-gloom.  
“You'll have to stand up,” she ordered.  
He did as she asked and stood up, digging his toes into the rug to steady himself. Jamie pulled his shirt out of his trousers after lowering his suspenders to hang down around his hips. With the shirt off he was just in his under vest and trousers.  
“I think you can manage from here on in.” She turned to go, but his hand shot out and grasped her wrist to stop her.   
“I find I can't manage much of anything without thinking about you...naked...waiting for me in the top bunk.” His voice was low and rough, his fingers holding her in a tight, yet gentle grip. Jamie tugged to free herself.  
“We not on the ship now. There are no bunks.”  
“Thank, God for that.” His mouth was suddenly on hers, his hands cradling the back of her head, holding her close while he plundered her mouth, his tongue sweeping all aside as he kissed her the way he'd wanted to for weeks.   
He tasted of brandy and heat, his body hard against her own, his hands roaming up and down her back while her arms, wrapped around his neck, pulled her close to his chest, her breasts flattened against his body, her nightshirt riding up her legs. One of his hands found the edge of the cotton and tugged it up, exposing her bottom and thighs to the night air, then his hand was there, warm and exciting, smoothing and molding the rounded flesh, tugging her closer, groaning as her legs made contact with the hardness tenting his trousers.   
“Sit astride me,” he groaned against her mouth, her body complying before her brain could engage.  
His arms were around her, one hand raking up the nightshirt, exposing more of her lower body, her spread thighs giving him access to her most private areas, her center poised above his own, separated only by cloth. He stroked his hand over her bottom and delved further, finding her core between her legs and feeling the moisture pooling there.   
“Oh, my God, you're so wet, so ready...sweetheart.” He moved them both, picking her up in one move to lay her on her back on his bed, her nightshirt rucked up around her waist, her legs spread. He didn't give her time to protest, but pushed her legs up and lowered his mouth to her body, licking and sucking at the tender flesh, promoting indescribable feeling to course through Jamie, almost fainting with the sensation of his mouth between her legs, lapping and teasing, sucking until she writhed and pressed herself against him in a torment of want, her nightshirt jammed against her mouth to prevent the screams of pleasure from bringing the household running to see who was being murdered. He kept her there, teetering on the border between pain and pleasure, his hands holding her spread for his delectation, all thoughts of propriety blown out into the night. He'd been patient, he'd been polite, he'd kept his libido under tight control, but tonight it was done, he would have her and take his fill of her.   
Jamie was burning up, her nightshirt bunched up around her face to prevent the noises she was making from being heard beyond the bed. Mitch was relentless, holding her from escaping, tormenting her with his tongue and lips, eating her flesh as if she was the most expensive, rare delicacy and he couldn't get enough. She didn't notice when one of his hands let go of her leg, working below his waist to free himself of his remaining clothing, particularly his trousers and shorts. Once free of them, he started to kiss his way up the feminine torso still quivering and shaking from his pleasurable onslaught. When he reached her chest, he pushed the nightshirt off completely, pulling it over her head to bare her to the moonlight streaming through the slatted windows. His lips found a new fascination with her small breasts, tipped with hard nipples begging to be suckled. With his chest aligned with hers, he pushed his hips forward, her body, so well prepared and lubricated, receiving him easily until he only had to pull back once and surge forward to be seated inside her to the hilt. He felt her go rigid beneath him, so he paused and lay staring down into her face. Her eyes were tight shut, her lips pulled back in a grimace. Sobriety cut through his former drunken haze and he swallowed. What had he done?  
“Jamie?”  
Her eyes opened and she stared back up at him. “Why have you stopped?”  
He licked his dry lips, his brow furrowed with confusion. “Why have I stopped? For God's sake, girl. I've stopped because I'm...I'm...” His voice died away to a whisper. “I'm raping you.” He made to pull out but her legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him seated. He closed his eyes, the feeling of her hot flesh snugly encasing his own was a torment and a fierce delight. He groaned. Then she moved, tilting her hips to draw him in further, only to reverse the move so that he was pulled a fraction out before being drawn into her body again. She was fucking him!  
He tried again. “You...er...you don't want me to stop?” Her pelvis writhed against his, their bodies moving in motion together, small thrusts of his body in and out of hers, her heels digging into his buttocks as they rocked back and forth.   
“Stop? Hell no. I've been dreaming about you doing just this for weeks, ever since I could see you naked in the cabin, since the night I heard you working you flesh and hoped you were thinking of me...” She groaned and sighed when he thrust more strongly into her, her legs not needing to provide the encouragement anymore. He flexed his hips, bracing his feet on the rug to give him more leverage.   
“You dreamed of me?” he muttered, once more applying himself to her pert breasts, licking and lathing the hot skin, raising goosebumps as he passed.   
“Of us doing this, of touching you and feeling all of this.”  
He shifted and found her mouth again, kissing her deeply as his body plundered her riches, Jamie spreading her legs up and wide so there was nothing between them, Mitch driving himself into her body until they were melded skin to skin, buried to the root within her. With a final, mattress quaking thrust he expelled himself inside her, heedless of the threat of pregnancy, only wanting to endlessly experience the divine feeling of being so immersed in someone there was no visible break from one to the other, just a seamless whole.   
Mitch moaned against her flesh, gagging himself around her breast, his head resting on her chest, sweat-soaked and heavy. He was quiescent between her thighs, his body giving the occasional quake and jerk as it recovered from giver her his all. Jamie panted, her body giving tiny quivers and shivers as she reveled in the feeling of being penetrated as fully as one could be, his weight welcome, both of them damp with sweat and saliva. She didn't want to move but knew that they'd have to eventually. The bliss of being joined with someone not only physically but emotionally was a joy she wanted never to end. She loved and was loved and it was wonderful.   
Mitch finally untangled himself from her embrace and stood back. He reached out and took her hand, pulling her up to stand in front of him.   
“Sleep with me?” he asked. She nodded. He pulled back the covers and indicated for her to climb on the mattress and lay against the pillows. Pulling off his undershirt, he went to the basin and jug set on the dresser, splashing some on his face after removing his spectacles before soaking a cloth in the cool water and wringing it out, cleaning up his body before soaking it again, wringing it out and carrying it over to the bed to clean up Jamie between her legs. That done he went back to the basin and made a hasty wash down before snagging a towel and drying himself off. His last task was to pull the large swathe of netting around the bed before getting on it himself, joining Jamie who lay watching him with sleep shadowed eyes. He opened his arms and she shifted over to fill them, his heart thumping steadily below her ear as she snuggled close, chest to chest, skin to skin. His last act before giving in to the lure of sleep was to pull the top sheet over them both, the alien thrum of nocturnal amphibians singing him to sleep.

He awoke with a suddenness that set his head rocking on its foundation. He groaned, screwing his eyes shut against the bright sunlight beyond the bedroom windows. His mouth was as dry as sand, his head potentially expanded to three times its size in the aftermath of his indulgence of good spirits the night before. His thoughts were muzzy and unfocused but he was sure there was something he was supposed to remember, the task too onerous for so early in the morning.   
The door to his room opened and he turned over in the bed, wincing as his brain protested the movement. Jamie was backing through the door then turning to reveal she was carrying a tray intended, he presumed for his breakfast. She was fully dressed and looked ready to take on whatever the day threw at her. He, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than his stomach to quiet down and the world to come into focus.   
“Good morning.” Jamie set the tray on the bed and fetched him his spectacles. “Ready for something to eat?”  
Mitch grimaced, one hand gravitating to his head to still the drums pounding behind his eyes.   
“You don't have to shout,” he whispered.  
“I wasn't,” Jamie whispered back. She poured him a cup of coffee, black, and handed it to him. He took it and sipped it cautiously. Finding it at the perfect temperature, he downed it and held out the cup for another. After three cups he lay back with a sigh against the heaped pillows.   
“What's under the covers?”  
“Toast, scrambled eggs and dried fish.”  
He pulled a face. “Just the toast, please. You can have the rest.”  
He nibbled at the bread while Jamie scooped up the fluffy eggs and ate them, leaving the dried fish on the plate. When Mitch raised an eyebrow she shrugged.   
“I had some in the kitchen. It's too salty for my taste.”  
When he was done drinking his coffee, she loaded up the tray and made to go. “I'll be back with hot water on my next trip.”  
He watched her leave the room, apparently embracing her role as a servant in the circumstances. Alone again he closed his eyes, his head and body telling him what a fool he'd been to overindulge the rich food and strong alcohol after weeks of relative austerity aboard ship. He had to get up to relieve himself, leaning against the wall, stark naked, pissing into a chamber pot behind the screen. He heard the door open and squinted through the gap to see Jamie enter with a large jug of water. He was mildly worried about being naked, but his thumping head was too bad for his worry to gain much ground.   
Jamie carried the jug over to the washstand, seeing the water already standing from the night before. She would need to empty that out before she could refill it with the clean water.  
“Are you finished?” she called out, forgetting to moderate her voice.   
“Ugh. God. Can't you see I'm suffering?” Mitch moaned from behind the screen.   
Jamie smiled to herself. “When you're done I'll empty the slops and you can have a shave.”  
Mitch appeared from behind the screen, a towel wrapped around his hips. He padded over to the bed and sat on the side, watching Jamie as she moved about the room, emptying the wastewater into the chamber pot, then refilling the ewer with the warm, clean water. She left him again to empty the pot, leaving him to get himself washed and ready for the day.   
When she finally returned he was dressed and looking better than he had before.   
“Lord Reiden and Mr. Black are both waiting for you down in the library,” she informed him, her eyes roaming over his face and form with affectionate familiarity.   
“I'd better go. We're due to meet with the men who will be taking us into the interior...” he glanced around the room. “I'm sorry you can't come. Can I leave you to....” he waved his hand at the unmade bed. Jamie nodded.   
“I look forward to hearing all about it when you get back.”  
Mitch nodded, light flashing off the lenses of his spectacle. He still looked like he was trying to remember something, but it didn't stop him from leaving the room for his meeting.  
Jamie shut the door behind him and went to sit on the side of the bed, her hand smoothing over the rumpled sheets. It would seem that Mitch didn't remember what he, and she, had done the night before. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing she wasn't yet ready to decide.   
She had awoken early, before sun up, naked and wrapped in his arms. It had been both shocking and delicious to be so close, skin to skin, and know that they had made love only hours before. It was a little less romantic when she recalled he'd been drunk as a skunk and all too willing to take advantage of the situation, one that she'd rashly entered into without thought for the consequences. He had appeared to have sobered when he joined their bodies into one, but now she wasn't so sure. His actions had been remorseful and he seemed aware of who she was and what they were doing, but now he had no memory, leaving her in a pickle. Did she just ignore his absentmindedness and carry on as before? Or call him on it? If she ignored it then there'd be no reason not to take her on the expedition. If she called him on it and reminded him of just what they'd done, he'd quite possibly do the noble thing, marry her, then leave her to languish in Boma in the care of some family or other to look after her until he returned. Everyone would know it was a havey-cavey situation and she'd have to suffer through it while he went off adventuring. As decisions went, this was one that really required no thought at all. If he didn't remember what happened, she wasn't going to remind him and miss out on going with him. Decision made, she spent the next twenty minutes re-making the rumpled bed, tidying the bedroom and taking the washing water downstairs to be thrown over the vegetable garden.

Mitch stared at the two younger men who would lead them into the interior. Jackson Oz was at least ten years younger than himself, handsome and brash, full of confidence and bravado, sure in his abilities and unafraid. He had spent most of his adult life in Africa, traveling all over the continent with his parents, when he was younger, then hiring out as a safari guide in more recent times. His friend and fellow guide was an intimidating black man with a gentle face and a sense of humor, alongside his fierce loyalty to Jackson, or Rafiki as he called him. Abraham Kenyatta was tall and broad with a pugilist build belied by twinkling eyes and a ready smile. His affection for Jackson was unfeigned and the pair could tell a tall tale for hours, making the stories thrilling and chilling in equal measures. Together they were a team with years of experience of Africa and all it had to offer, its dangers and its beauties. Jackson also espoused a great affection for the animals that inhabited the landscape, his views on poaching and trophy hunting directly at odds with Lord Reiden. For a short time, it appeared that Jackson would turn down the lucrative offer of leading their team, but a brief, heated argument with Abraham, or Abe as he preferred, soon squashed any rebellion on Jackson's part.   
Jackson did remain adamant about one aspect of the expedition. He thought taking the horses was madness. His reasoning was that once they left the fairly well maintained postal roads that stretched between Boma, through the highlands and over towards Tshela, a distance of nearly seventy-four miles, there was only walking tracks through the land, and where they were headed, there wouldn't be even that luxury available. Grazing for the animals was another problem. A map of their projected route was rolled out, showing the road linking Boma to Tshela, plus the villages along the way.   
“As you can see, we will be traveling through, in most places, areas of thick jungle with little or no areas of grasslands or grazing.”  
“You're saying there's no grass at all?” Lord Reiden challenged.  
Jackson shook his head. “There are areas where the forest is cleared, either by people or elephants were the savannah thrives, but these are not exactly signposted. Your horses will have to survive on grains, another rarity beyond the reach of the coastal towns that import them for people to make into bread.”  
Lord Reiden waved his hand. “Cost is not an issue.”  
“Issue or not, it's to do with availability. The less you live off the land, the more you have to carry with you. As it is, we're looking at taking at least fifty native porters just to carry the tents and associated supplies. If we have to add the feed for the horses, you'll have to add a further ten porters making a total of nearly seventy people on this trek. Is it worth it?” Jackson looked around at the starkly white faces of the men from England, in their expensive safari suits, barely a sweat breaking out on their foreheads. Compared to himself, they looked like creatures from another world, which, he supposed they were. They had never been to the country before, knew nothing about the continent, its weather or the terrain, the animals in it or just how difficult it was for white men to traverse the jungles of this area of equatorial Africa. The Congo River was only usable for short stretches between rapids, and for this expedition, it went in the wrong direction, so treking was the next best thing. It would take them roughly ten days to reach Tshela, traveling at the speed of the slowest porter, treking five to six hours, with stops for a meal at midday and allowing for setting up at the end of the day. Traveling the road would make the going relatively easy for everyone, it was when the road ended and they went beyond Tshela that the hard part would begin.   
They would start at dawn the next day so the meeting broke up with everyone expected to pack up and be ready to leave at first light. 

Overnight, Lord Reiden had come to a decision. Based on the information from their guides, it had been suggested that the horses be used until they reached Tshela, then sent back and the rest of the trip done on foot. It came as no surprise when Jamie followed Mitch out of the agent's house to find several horses added to Lord Reiden's four. Most of the extras would be ridden by Reiden's staff, panniers placed on those sturdy ponies to carry some of the supplies. Jamie was assigned one of these, her small suitcase tied to the saddle and the panniers filled with assorted bits and pieces, including a water bottle for her use during the day. Their personal belongings had been taken out of the heavy and cumbersome trunks and wrapped into bales or bundles to be carried by the porters, allowing for them to be able to carry more with less weight. Still, it was an impressive caravan that set off in the subdued light of dawn, accompanied by the chorus of birds just rising to greet the sun, along with the almost deafening buzz of insects. Mitch was riding one of Reiden's thoroughbreds and finding the creature quite a handful to control. Despite their best efforts, the horses had all put on weight being confined on the ship with no exercise, so were a little less sprightly than usual, but more truculent and fighting the bit having had no exercise or been ridden in awhile. Jackson and Abe were riding the hardier local horses, shorter and stockier than the imports, but more likely to cope with the heat and humidity they would face. All the animals would be returned to Boma along the same route and cared for until the Reiden expedition returned. The Reiden Global agent was also traveling with them along with several members of his staff and servants, so that the entire party was a well armed and supplied eighty-five souls that set out. As Jamie kicked her pony into a walk, some way behind Lord Reiden and his party, she mused that now the adventure had truly begun. Huzzah!


	6. Road To Tshela

Chapter Six – Road to Tshela

Her hands were slippery with sweat where they gripped the reins of the stoic animal she sat atop. After the initial cool of the dawn, the heat had risen exponentially with the angle of the sun into the clear blue sky. The shade cast by the trees lining the road was welcome but did little to cut the level of humidity or reduce the ambient heat as they followed the beaten dirt road further inland. She was a long way back from the front party of Lord Reiden and the two guides, her pony just one among the baggage train, dark-skinned natives walking either side of her with packs on their backs or bundles on their heads. All along the sides of the road, set back a little, were thatched huts belonging to the natives, chickens, and goats foraging along the narrow verge looking as dusty as the foliage. Some of the huts would cluster together and there'd be several women, some carrying babies on their backs, working together to process grain into a coarse mealy flour, others sitting on the ground weaving mats or baskets, domestic scenes, the people glancing up as the huge, trailing parade of white men and bearers passed by. Women were also seen tramping the road with large calabash or water pots on their heads, having to walk to the local extension of the river every day to replenish the family supply, often accompanied by children carrying a load of firewood, or baskets of harvested fruits and edible vegetation gleaned from the jungle around them. All of this activity kept her attention so well she was surprised when the caravan was called to a halt for the midday break. Reaching into one of the panniers she dragged out the water bottle and took a long drink, glad to soothe her parched throat and wash the dust from her teeth. The natives all around her had laid down their bundles and were going about their business, ignoring Jamie as she stood beside her patient transport. Because the horses weren't going past Tshela, there were several men assigned to care for them and ultimately take them back to Boma. One of them approached her horse, grinning broadly and talking to her in his native language, his hands speaking more eloquently than his words, indicating that he was to take charge of her ride while she went forward to be given something to eat with the other white men. Jamie nodded and smiled back, thanking the man and walking along the row of resting animals until she reached where the grooms and other staff were standing around talking or mopping off the sweat that dampened faces and collars, underarms and hands, leaving behind dark patches against the lighter material of their clothes. Jamie could see that in this heat, no-one was going to be smelling very sweet after a few days on the road. She passed the group of underlings and sidled towards the leaders, seeing Lord Reiden being comfortably seated under a quickly erected canvas to provide total shade from the noon sun while other natives got a fire going to boil a kettle. Packets of food were being handed out, Jaimie getting her share, the paper peeled back to reveal bread, cheese, and pickles. The ingredients probably came from Reiden's agent's own kitchen, a luxury compared to what they could expect later on. Mitch wandered over, talking to the grooms as he passed until he reached where she sat, her back against a tree at the side of the road.   
“You okay?” he asked, crouching down.  
Jamie had discarded her hat and head scarf, letting her head dry off before they started on the second part of the day's journey.   
“I'm fine. Has Danny Boy settled down?”  
“Yeah. Just a few jitters at the start, but the heat tends to sap any wayward behavior pretty quickly. How is your ride?”  
“Quiet. Not exactly a challenge, but that's not a bad thing. I've been able to sightsee as we ambled along.”  
“Good. Do you need to...ah...relieve yourself?” Mitch asked, looking around to make sure no-one was close enough to overhear.   
“I did, earlier on. The caravan was going slow enough that I could hop off, disappear behind a bush, then catch up and get on again. And yes, I've been drinking like you told me too.”  
“Good. This heat is deceptive. We'll acclimatize eventually, but these early days are going to be uncomfortable. Do you need any more lotion for your skin?”  
Jamie had slathered herself up that morning before they left. “I suppose I should reapply it. I've already mopped my face a hundred times, so I've probably wiped everything off.”  
“I'll get the bottle.” Mitch got up and went to his horse, opening the bag attached at the back of the saddle. He returned with the lotion and handed it to her. She dabbed it on her face and the back of her hands, the only bits of skin currently exposed to the sun and biting insects.   
“The black flies are persistent,” she remarked, capping the bottle and handing it back. “Shame we can't wear the mosquito netting around our hats to keep them at bay.”  
Mitch looked surprised. “That's not a bad idea. A bit like a beekeeper's hat to keep the bees off his face.”  
Jamie shrugged. “It was just a thought.” She looked over to where Lord Reiden was sitting. “Look's like we're making a move.”  
Mitch got up, extending his hand to her to hoist her onto her feet. He held her fingers for a fraction longer than convention then let her go. “Don't forget to drink plenty.”  
“I won't. You'd better go.” She watched him leave and repack his saddlebag, before talking for a few moments with Reiden and the guides, then the call went up for everyone to remount and get ready to leave. Jamie accepted a boost onto her pony from one of the natives before gathering up the reins and moving off with the caravan once the signal was given.

The sun was low in the sky when they next stopped, the guides leading the caravan off the road to a large clearing, sufficient to provide space for the horses to graze over half of it, safe behind a quickly erected kraal or palisade made of timber gathered from clearing the ground and from the jungle edge. Then the tents were erected for the night, the natives setting up small fires to heat water for the white men to wash in, or to fill kettles for tea.   
Jamie untied her small suitcase and carried it over to a tent designated for the grooms and other staff, but she was shooed away and told to go seek out Doctor Morgan to be assigned her quarters for the night. The grooms had also told her to leave tending the horses to them, sending her off to do what she'd been doing on the ship – attending to Lord Reiden and the others in the lead group. Slightly miffed at being so dismissed, she threaded her way towards the head of the column, suitcase in hand. She stood on the outskirts of the area cleared for Lord Reiden and his party and watched, seeing who was billeted where, eventually seeing where Mitch was and assuming that was where she'd be as well. Amongst the chaotic order of setting up camp, she entered the thin-walled canvas tent and put her suitcase down. There were two camp beds set up, as yet with no bedding, so she put her case on one and set off to find out where the bedding was. She found the native given the task of distributing the linens and snagged a couple of sheets and blankets from him, along with two pillows. Suitable burdened she hurried back to the tent and set up the beds. Someone had left two mosquito nets on the ground and she placed them on the beds, not being tall enough to hook them into the loops on the tent roof put there for that purpose. Her own accommodation taken care of, she headed for Lord Reiden's tent, that he would be sharing with the photographer and the agent, the tent big enough to house twice as many. The agent currently sat at a table with a map and journal set out, the man entering a log in the journal about hours traveled and distance covered. He looked up when Jamie entered the tent. She took off her hat and held it in her hands.  
“I was just checkin' to see if there was anyfin' you needed, Mr. Collins?” she asked.  
“Nope. All set up, as you can see. I'd go see Dr. Morgan if you're looking for work.”  
“I'll do that, sir. Thank you, sir.” She backed out of the tent and turned to survey the camp, looking for Mitch.   
“Looking for the doctor?” the photographer asked. “He's tending to the natives, would you believe.”  
“Thank you, Mr. Black, I'll go see if'n he needs a hand.” Putting her hat back on she darted around the photographer and walked over towards where the porters were camped. She could see Mitch moving among them, the guide, Abraham, at his side, translating as Mitch asked questions about the health and welfare of the porters. Jamie didn't want to interfere so found a camp stool and sat on that, near to where the makeshift kitchen tent had been set up, several natives working to prepare a meal for everyone.   
Once the noise of setting up camp died down to a murmur, the birds and insects once more took up their instruments and serenaded the campers, the sun sliding down the sky and eventually disappearing behind the dense greenery, casting the cleared area into deep shade. The meal when it was served was palatable and tasty, a bowl of some sort of grain and meat stew with vegetables, flavored with spices that were new to her palate, along with a hunk of bread to soak up the gravy. Eating as they were, al fresco, it was delicious. After her bowl was collected she begged a bucket and directions to the nearest water source, determined to wash herself and her clothes of the sweat of the day. A narrow path had been cut in the jungle to lead the wanderer to the creek, Jamie not spending any longer than necessary at the water's edge, aware that the light of the day was fading fast. The occasional distant roar made her start and listen, but it also spurred her to return to camp without much delay. Safe in her own tent, she shut the opening and then sought out clean clothes to change into. She would have to be quick and perfunctory in her wash, but it was sufficient to make her feel better, using the same water afterward to rinse out all the clothes she wore that day. Without soap chips, they would still be stained, but at least not stinking of horse and sweat. She strung a length of string from the tent post to the corner and hung her clothes on that. It was now full dark, although light still came from the many fires and lanterns strung around the camp and which shone through the thin sides of the canvas. Finding a hook already attached to the netting, she stood on the overturned bucket to reach the loop and hung up her mosquito net. Knowing that tramping around barefoot was not recommended, she kept her boots nearby to slip on if she needed to go out of the tent in the night. She'd used the last of the water to clean her teeth and mouth before emptying it out and using it for a step stool, now she was ready to give in to the tiredness that had been creeping up on her since she'd dismounted her pony. The noise outside the tent had little lessened, but that didn't stop her laying down and pulling the thin blanket over herself, sleep claiming her in seconds, lulled by the constant murmur of voices outside.  
Mitch entered the tent some hours later, saw the string of clothes drying and the upturned bucket. Jamie was fast asleep, curled up under the blanket but wearing her ubiquitous nightshirt, looking like an angel in the dim light of the lantern he carried. Deciding to follow her lead, he took the bucket to the creek and filled it, bringing it back to repeat what Jamie had done earlier in rinsing out her clothes, after sponging clean his body of the dust and sweat that coated his skin. Then, like her, he arranged his netting before sleeping in just a clean pair of shorts and an undershirt, the blanket pulled up to his chest. It would be an early start the next day, so he was thankful Reiden had called it a night and sent everyone to bed. Snuffing the lantern he settled himself to sleep.

The days that followed were all set in a similar pattern. Up with the dawn, a quick breakfast and on the road for a solid four hours until they stopped for lunch, then a further three hours or so until they broke to set up camp for the night. Often they were near to a sizable village and were able to mingle with some of the children and families, endlessly fascinated with the appearance of the strange white men and their enormous horses. Mr. Black took several photographs to illustrate their travels with the natives.   
One night, Jamie awoke to the sound of rain pattering on the canvas roof, the wet not stopping with the rising of the sun, but continuing throughout the day, the water turning the road into a muddy bog, animals and men alike sweltering in the damp heat as they laboured to make headway through the sticky mud that clogged feet and hooves regardless. At one point they were forced to wait until a bridge was repaired, having been swamped by rising flood waters from a cloudburst somewhere further up the range they were currently crossing, the water too deep to risk losing porters and supplies to the rushing torrent. The flash flood was of short duration and soon they were able to wade through the stream bed on the horses while the porters made use of the makeshift bridge, keeping their bundles and boxes held high and dry.   
With the frequent delays from river crossings, steep climbs, and the road conditions, they reached Tshela after a seven-day trek. Despite the saddle and not being unused to riding, Jamie was glad to finally get off her pony knowing that was the end of the trail for the horses – all of them. A small group of the agent's native servants would take the animals back to Boma to await news of the Reiden Party's return.  
The road had been narrowing the closer they got to the end of the post road, Tshela appearing out of the thick jungle, the only permanent building being a mudbrick post office that stood centrally in the village with thatched huts surrounding it. Dotted among the huts were tall palm trees providing shade when all the larger trees were long ago felled to provide the open area for the people and animals living there. The small tributary they'd been following ran close beside the village, the Lubuel River providing drinking water as well as fish for the residents, fed from a spring high up in the hills to the south-east, wending a tortuous route through the north-west of the country until it met up with the Chiloanga River and ended up emptying into the sea seventy miles to the west, as the crow flies. This particular stretch of the Lubuel River was a series of shallow cataracts, a popular place for the women and children to wash and bathe, free from the threat of crocodiles and hippos. During their short stay at the village, Jamie would spend some of it watching the families at work and play, even immersing herself in the fast running water to cool down, her clothes drying on her back in the heat, but more comfortable for the impromptu wash. The other men didn't bother to go in with their clothes still on, dashing into the cooler water in the buff at the end of the day, the natives laughing and pointing at the lily white skin of the Europeans, such a direct contrast to their own coffee colored hue.   
They enjoyed two days at Tshela, plotting their course to where the agents said his man had described the wonder's he'd seen so many months ago. They were relatively close to the northern border where the Belgian Congo butted up against French Equatorial Africa, the area largely thick jungle and home to numerous small tribal centers, many of them no more than the size of a hamlet, in European terms, a handful of families eking out a living. According to the latest information from the postmaster, there was a little unrest among the bigger tribes, but those more local were usually friendly and tended to avoid, rather than engage with travelers. The last night before they set off on the next leg of their journey was an occasion for celebration, a large fire burning in the center of the village and a whole goat roasting nearby, along with an assortment of bushmeat. Jamie preferred not to know what she was eating, just making sure it was thoroughly cooked before sampling what was on offer. She had done her best, given the circumstances, to follow the Watana's cook's instructions regarding her food and water, and so far had managed to escape any stomach upsets, a fate not avoided by several others who were being treated for diarrhea and general malaise from not being so particular about their hygiene and food choices. One of the grooms was so bad he was set to return to Boma with the horses, there to rest and recover.   
Now she sat among the spectators and listened to the unusual rhythms and songs of the Bantu villagers, the rise and fall of the voices and joining in with the stamp of feet on the hot earth, clapping along with them and enjoying the spectacle immensely. She's seen little of Mitch during their trek from Boma, just the occasional visit when they stopped for lunch, but for the most part, he'd come to bed much later than she did, and was often gone when she awoke in the morning. He treated her no differently than any of the other servants, checking on her welfare, but not engaging in any talk other than the most polite and mundane, as you'd expect of a man talking to a stable boy. If she thought there was little privacy aboard the ship, there was even less among the crowd of people they traveled with, now they were truly on the expedition. Her plans to enact revenge upon Reiden had all but fizzled into nothing. She'd been too lowly at the estate to get away with being in the house for any reason, her presence likely to set the maids shrieking if she was caught indoors outside of the servant quarters. On board the ship they had been too closely quartered and if she attempted anything, where was there to escape to? Now they were on land, but Reiden was never alone at any time of the day or night, sharing a tent with others, keeping a clear distance between himself and the lower orders, herself included in that number. So, for now, her plans had to be shelved until an opportunity presented itself that didn't put herself squarely in the crosshairs of easy discovery if and when she chose to act.   
As for Mitch, she hugged the secret of their one illicit joining the night he got drunk. For her it had been the culmination of all her thwarted passions up until that point, the teasing between them in the intimacy of the cabin, the stolen kisses, all exploded into a fire that night and she didn't regret a thing. She had a feeling, though, that Mitch could quite readily regret it if only he remembered it. Instead, she dreamed of a time when his focus and attention would all be back on her again, and maybe they'd have a chance to revisit the whole naked and in bed scenario again. 

They bid goodbye to the horses early the next morning and the dust had barely settled before they were setting out, following a walking track heading for a north-easterly tributary of the M'Pa River to then reach a crossing over the Chaloanga River further north. It would be the last major river crossing, a natural border between the Congo and Cabinda, before they reached their destination, an area of broken foothills below a plateau, near a village called Micondji. There was a Catholic mission station at the base of the plateau, a useful stopover before the climb to the summit. Once they crossed into Cabinda, they would be once more in Portuguese controlled territory, the narrow country squashed between the Belgian held Congo and the French controlled equatorial Africa. 

The overall number of their party had been slightly reduced with the loss of the agent's men taking the horses back to Boma, along with anyone not fit for the trek. Jamie walked single file behind one of the former grooms, a native also either side of her, the track just wide enough to allow three abreast. She carried her own gear, her suitcase plus spare boots, her water canteen, a rolled up blanket secured at the top, plus a machete and rifle. All had been fashioned within a harness that secured the load on her shoulders. It wasn't onerous but she felt it for the first few days of the trek, the extra weight digging into her back and arms, leaving her aching by the end of the day. Everyone was having to carry a load, all except Lord Reiden, that is. Without the horses the bearers now had to shoulder the heavier gear, meaning that all the white men had to carry at least their own traps and paraphernalia to avoid overloading the natives. So Jamie sweated and labored, her head more often tilted down to watch her feet rather than look up and enjoy the diversity of the land around them. When they made a rest-stop then she looked up, mopping her dripping face and drinking deeply from her canteen. The land they were crossing was constantly scored with fast running streams making water the least of their current worries, Jamie taking any opportunity to refill her water bottle and sluice the cooler water over her sweating body and sweatstained clothing. She was also now quite accustomed to the strong odor of working men, surrounded as she was by them. She had quite given up worrying about her own body smell, still making sure at night to wash her feet thoroughly and rinse out her socks and underwear when able, keeping herself as clean as possible given the circumstances. She noted that Doctor Morgan was kept busy every evening checking over the men, both native and white, for indications of illness, skin rashes, infections or septic bites. She privately congratulated herself for not ignoring the advice given to her and avoiding, where possible, the worst that the jungle and Africa tried to inflict on those not taking care of their own health and welfare. Jamie had followed through on her idea about the netting and now had a strip sewn to the brim of her hat to keep the constant swarms of flying and biting insects at least from landing on her face and exposed neck. Her hands were not so fortunate, but she often used a trick she'd seen the black's use, smearing her hands with a paste of dirt and water to provide a barrier against the constant attacks and sharp barbs. She paid a lot of attention to where the natives chose to rest, what plants they avoided, which ones they would snip off leaves to chew as they walked. Some she saw them rub on their skin, probably a local remedy for the insects, others she saw them use to bind up small cuts or scrapes inflicted by the unforgiving vegetation, no wound left untreated, a mantra that Doctor Morgan repeated to their own party.  
Jamie was luckier than those in the front of the caravan. By the time she reached whatever obstacle had to be crossed, the path had been beaten down by the men up ahead and was quite passable, well flattened and clearly visible when it came time for her to cross it. Apart from watching where she placed her feet so she didn't get caught up or fall over a stump or become tangled in a vine, her experience of the trek through thick jungle was almost pleasant, if you ignored the heat, constantly sweating and chafing, the occasional encounter with a snake or monstrous spider disturbed by their passage and the strange environment they found themselves in.   
At night they struck camp, sometimes in a natural clearing if they found one, or else hacked out of the jungle themselves. Each night she slept in a tent, performing her nightly rituals before hanging out her stained and less than pristine clothes, then passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow. She never heard or stirred when Mitch entered or left the tent, her body needing every second of sleep it could get to keep her going the next day. The morning saw her dress in her stiff, but mercifully dry clothing, pull on her boots, fold up her bedding and carry her pack out to find some breakfast before starting the walk for that day, already on the trail before the sun had risen above the horizon. She saw little of the wildlife that inhabited the dense greenery around them, other than their body parts possibly that evening when they stopped for the night and ate a hot meal of whatever animal had been hunted for that purpose. A party of natives would be assigned to leave the trail and go hunting, usually returning hours later with numerous dead bodies of animals draped over their shoulders or carried, hanging by their limbs from a pole between two men. Most she didn't recognize, refusing to try and identify what later turned up on her metal plate in the form of some meat or other. She accepted whatever was on offer and ignored its origins. Apart from being a member of the larger party of people, she was not asked to perform her 'duties' while they trekked. Lord Reiden had his own group of natives that set up his tent and furniture, cooked his meals and tended him. But for all else to do with his person, apparently he wasn't so incapable of taking care of himself out here in the wilds of Africa as he was on his own estate in England. The same applied to the photographer, Gordon Black and the Reiden Agent, Cyrus Collins. Both were taking care of their personal effects without the need of a valet or personal servant, relieving Jamie of the tasks. So, for the most part, Jamie was left to her own devices. 

They were approaching their first major river obstacle, the Chaloanga, which was too wide and fast for a bridge meaning they would need to hire boats and boatmen from a nearby village to get across. Jamie eyed the dark brown water which flowed past, the occasional eddy or whirlpool stirring the surface, the other side looking a very long way away. The village was quite large, certainly larger than any of the tiny hamlets they'd skirted past more recently. There were a flotilla of narrow longboats drawn up on the muddy bank, hollowed out tree trunks for the most part, shallow and flimsy looking. She stared at them with some misgivings. Jackson and Abraham were talking to the village elders, working out a price for the hire of the boats to carry them all across. From where she stood among the former grooms, the bargaining was a noisy affair conducted while squatting down in a large circle in the village center, with much hand gesticulation and dismissive gestures. Apparently, the natives struck a hard bargain and Abraham was a firm haggler. After an hour of largely ceremonial and token arguments, a price was reached and the meeting broke up. Jackson told everyone they would be staying the night in the village and leaving at first light to cross the river. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief and turned to pick up her stuff. She wandered down to the river's edge, along a bit from the boats and pulled off her boots and socks to paddle in the water. A voice behind her made her jump.   
“Watch out for crocodiles.”  
“For heaven's sake, Mitch. You scared the life out of me.”  
He came to stand beside her, his boots still on. “They like to hunt for game coming down to the water's edge to drink. You won't see the one that gets you.”  
Jamie eyed the opaque water and walked backward onto dry ground. “Way to spoil a person's quiet moment,” she grumbled. Mitch chuckled.  
“If you want to bathe, the women and children are heading that way.” He pointed. “They probably have a safe pool for that purpose, if you want to wash socks and things.”  
“I'll do that.” She turned to look up at him. “How are you?”  
He stared down at her, noting that her hair was starting to grow back, the tuffs not so obvious among the regrowth, the coppery hair curling against her scalp, hiding the scars. “I'm fine. Can't say the same for others. Despite being told, they choose to ignore me.”  
“No accounting for idiots,” Jamie muttered, gathering up her socks after putting her boots on her bare feet. The sun was starting to head towards the horizon.  
“Come on, I'll accompany you to the pool, then I have to go and tend to those that simply won't take good advice when it's offered.”  
Together they walked a well-trodden path along the riverbank, seeing fish traps laid at regular intervals, along with bushes already covered with drying laundry. Ahead, they heard the sound of splashing and childish laughter along with shrieks and the calls of women to their offspring, chiding them for playing when they should be doing their chores. When Jamie and Mitch appeared they went quiet for a short time, watching the newcomers warily. When neither did anything alarming, the chatter started up again and the women continued to pound cloth against the rocks while their children jumped around in a pool bordered by a large fence of narrowly placed, sturdy poles so that the water could swirl in and wash out, but not allow crocodiles to swim unnoticed into the fenced off area. Jaime once more shucked her boots and placed them on the bank, taking off her hat as well before wading in, fully clothes and sinking down up to her neck in the cool water. She floated on her back and let her head fall back into the water so she was soaking up to her ears. The women and children stared at her, whispering among themselves, the children watching the stranger with wide eyes, not sure what to do. Eventually one plucked up the courage to approach, Jamie treading water as the child swam over to her, their eyes fixed on her head.   
“They've obviously never seen a redhead before!” Mitch called from the bank, grinning as the child overcame his fear and reached out to touch Jamie's head and the short gingery hair now slick against her scalp. Just as he touched her, she shook her head and water flew everywhere, the child letting out a shriek, along with all the others. Jamie grinned at them, and they suddenly all grinned back at her, laughing at the joke of being afraid of her. Soon she was surrounded by chocolate skinned children of all ages, their fingers reaching out to touch and explore her face and hair, rubbing at her clothes and trying to rub the white off her skin like it was a muddy layer. They also peered at her eyes, fascinated by their light color, her freckled skin, and pink lips, so unusual and unseen among their own kind. Jamie endured the inspection with patience and a smile on her lips. Mitch watched from the shore and wished he could be so openly affectionate with her and touch her like the children were.  
“I see the boy is the center of attention for the darkies!” Boomed Reiden's voice above the chatter of the women and the laughter of the children.   
“I don't think they've ever seen anyone so pale or gingery,” Mitch explained, glad that Jamie had her back to the shore and neck deep in the water.   
“Is the lad keeping well?” Lord Reiden asked.   
“Seems to be. But then, he follows my advice,” Mitch answered acerbically.   
“Yes. Well. Live and learn, I say,” Reiden retorted. “I need to discuss what we're going to do about those that haven't listened. I need your opinion on whether we continue with them or send them back.”  
Mitch tore his attention away from Jamie and faced his employer. “We'll have to lose more bearers. Willis and Jenkins will need to be carried. They aren't up to going anywhere further on foot.”  
“That's what I thought. According to Jackson and that Abraham bloke, the going gets increasing rough the further north we go, so I don't want any malingerers or dead weight slowing us down.”  
“Then we'll have to leave at least three of our party, which will need six bearers to carry them, and another six to carry supplies to get them back to Tshela, at least.”  
“Damn. That many?”  
“Bare minimum.”  
Lord Reiden stroked his mustache as he contemplated. “How about we leave them here and collect them on our way back?”  
Mitch nodded. “That's possible. We would only need to leave a couple of natives to tend to them and a few supplies. One tent certainly.”  
Reiden nodded. “See to it, Doctor.” With a last glance at the river, Reiden left the pool and returned to the village. Mitch waited for Jamie to wade out of the river and join him, dripping wet but with a smile on her face.   
“What was that all about?” she asked.   
“We need to leave some men behind when we cross the river. They aren't medically fit to carry on.”  
“Poor them. Will they be alright here?” She looked around at the villager, their basic thatched huts.  
“As good as anywhere. We'll collect them on our way back.” Mitch told her.   
Jamie nodded. Together they strolled back to their camp, set just outside the native village, which they learned was called Palanga, a natural junction where several waterways converged, including the stream they'd been following, the M'Pa, plus another the Mala Mala River, all of them flowing into the Chaloanga River to begin their race to the ocean many miles to the west.   
That night the village celebrated the arrival and excellent bargain struck with the strangers, the hunters bringing home a range of game – antelope, birds, monkeys, pigs, goats, fish – all prepared by the women and set out on huge palm fronds that acted as tablecloths against the bare ground. The whole village sat around, along with the white strangers with their porters, and partook of the feast. Children ran around or sat with their parents, staring wide-eyed at the visitors, listening to the different dialects of the bearers who were from many different tribes from around the area south of the village. Bowls of the local equivalent of beer were passed around, both women and men drinking the strong brew. Jamie made it look as if she drank but kept her lips closed, passing the bowl to the next man after wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Mitch was across the palm fronds from her and she wondered if he'd get drunk on the local brew or abstain. As far as she could see he drank like the others, but it was hard to tell in the flickering lights of the torches burning around the central area where the banquet was being held. At length, everyone had eaten their fill and the food was cleared away and the dancing began. Jaimie watched for a while but she had difficulty keeping her eyes open after the day's trek and the good food. The drums seemed to be beating a rhythm that lulled her further and further into some sort of trance until she almost fell forward it was so strong. Suddenly alert and awake she decided to take herself off and find her bed. Someone had thoughtfully left a bucket of water for her to use and she hurriedly washed from head to toe before rinsing out her clothes – again – to remove the smell of the river and sweat from the fabric. Feeling refreshed and clean, she arranged her netting and settled down to sleep, the distant thump of the drums and dancers quickly sending her into dreamland.   
She stirred briefly when Mitch staggered noisily into the tent, but he only managed to kick off his boots before falling fully clothed onto the cot, his head hitting the pillow even as he started to snore. Jamie got up and arranged the netting over him, then returned to her own bed, quickly falling asleep again, this time to the chorus of Mitch's deep breathing.   
Next morning there were several groaning over how strong the local beer was, complaining around aching heads and upset stomachs. Jamie quietly packed her belongings and left Mitch to sleep his off. Later she saw him stagger out of the tent when the bearer arrived to break down the tent and pack it away.   
Before long they were mustering at the edge of the river to start packing the boats with everything they carried as well as the people. The villagers watched it all with interest, several boys climbing up the nearby trees to get a better look. Lord Reiden and the guides were already halfway across the river being paddled to the other shore before Jamie was ushered forward to climb aboard her designated canoe along with a number of bundles, including her own, and several of the native bearers, along with the oarsmen. Everyone took up a short wooden paddle to help drive the canoes across the swirling brown water, joining the dozen or so boats already making the journey. Jamie was handed a scoop and she worked to bail out the water that inevitably accumulated around their feet. The canoe design seemed to have an inherent leak built into them, but despite this the boats moved easily through the water, slicing through the waves at speed with so many to paddle. There was a stiff breeze blowing as they crossed the water and away from the shelter of the shore, Jamie's hat was blown off her head to hang down her back while she scooped and bailed, the paddlers setting up a chant in time with their strokes, Jamie matching that rhythm with her own work. When she did look up, she could see dark shapes, like logs, floating on the surface of the water. One man saw the direction of her stare and spoke a word in Swahili to explain.   
“Mamba.”  
In the days she'd been walking beside the natives, she had listened to the words they used and tried to pick up some of the languages. Being Bantu, they spoke Swahili along with other dialects, but this was a word she had learned.  
“Crocodile?” she asked. She made her hands resemble a crocodiles jaw, snapping it several times. “Mamba?”  
The man nodded, grinning at her. Jamie nervously smiled back and continued to bail. Those that had gone ahead were already on the opposite shore with more boats landing every few minutes. Jamie's canoe was getting near when the people on the shore started to shout and point to something behind them. Jamie, near the prow, was able to see above the men in her canoe to where the people were pointing. The water near to the middle of the river and over towards the shore they'd just left, was boiling and heaving as dark shapes, like monstrous rounded boulders, started to erupt from the depths, one of them directly under one of the canoes, sending the men and goods tumbling, shouting and screaming into the turbulent river, the canoe briefly pointing straight upwards before sinking out of sight. A loud grunting, honking noise accompanied the attack, the creature surging out of the water with its jaw wide open, displaying huge, blunt teeth before coming down hard on the surface sending gouts of water into the air. She could see dark heads bobbing in the water, some of them swimming towards the other shore, only to suddenly disappear below the water. The paddlers in her own boat hadn't bothered to turn around, they knew what the dangers were and bent their backs to go faster, the boat slicing at speed through the wavelets, the canoes behind doing the same until it became almost a race to reach shore. Jamie could only watch in horror as the river became a boiling, threshing mess of water and animals, crocodile and hippo competing to create as much mayhem and havoc in their wake, the remaining canoes either turning back or floating downstream to avoid the carnage. Jamie hardly noticed when the canoe grounded on the muddy bank, her gaze fixed on the water still churning further out on the water. Hands grabbed her under her armpits and lifted her out of the boat to carry her clumsily up the bank and to relative safety. She was deposited without ceremony on the dirt while bundles and packs were unloaded along with those that arrived with her. When every surviving canoe was emptied, the men stood on the bank to see what happened to those that didn't make it. The canoes that had drifted with the current were starting to head towards them, giving the area of the hippo attack a wide berth. When the head count was taken, they had lost three canoes, nine villagers and nine of their own men, including one of the groom, and two of the agent's men, along with all their associated supplies and weapons.   
The village men were relatively phlegmatic about the losses. They knew the river and its dangers and accepted that as a way of life, another reason for the elder's hard bargain. They had demanded recompense if their men lost their lives to the river Gods and their minions.   
Jamie sat with her own meager pack, well back from the river's edge.   
“You okay?” Mitch's voice drifted over her and she turned blind eyes to look up into his.  
“What?”  
“Here. Take a sip.” He held a metal flask to her lips and she took a gulp, coughing as the brandy burned a track down her throat. Tears sprung to her eyes and the fumes stung her nose, but it did jolt her back to awareness.   
“Oh, that is awful.”  
“Yeah. But it does the trick. Better now?”  
She nodded, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. “Those poor men.”  
“Yeah. We were lucky it wasn't a herd of them. They usually prefer shallower water, like in an estuary, or lake, I believe.”  
A loud bellowing honking noise pierced the air, everyone staring towards the water and seeing a massive body with a wide-open jaw emerge from the water before subsiding again. Suddenly the river bank became a hive of activity as everyone gathered up their belongings and the goods that had survived were distributed among the remaining bearers. Before long they were hacking a way through an overgrown section of track, the tall elephant grass on either side impeding the view so that you only saw the grass and the distant tops of tall trees, the river now invisible behind them. The villagers that had paddled them over would remain on the river bank until all evidence of the hippos was gone, or attempt to paddle further downstream and carry the canoes along the shore back to the village. 

The landscape on the north side of the river was less jungly and more savanna as well as heavily forested. Large granite monoliths dotted the ground, sometimes appearing quite unexpectedly from the tall grass or among the straight trunks. Along with the huge boulders were towering cities of termites, the way forward wending a path through the strange constructions of mud, some as tall as a man, others smaller, all of them fascinating.   
As the men tramped across the land, the wildlife took flight, the wild shrieks of monkeys alerting others to their progress, long before the creatures were ever sighted by the column. With their flank view blocked by vegetation, Jamie was forced to look upwards to see flocks of brightly colored birds swooping overhead or noisily roosting in distant treetops, while monkeys and other apes were just distant shadows swinging among the branches, well beyond the reach of bows and arrows, slings or spears. Occasionally, even while walking, they heard the distant boom of a gun as some animal met its fate under the game hunter's eye of Lord Reiden.   
They had already accumulated a number of fine skins and horns, some of them stored by the village they'd just left, others to be carried throughout the trek until they arrived back at Boma, there to be shipped home. For that reason, the skins had to be treated, the task given to a couple of the bearers knowledgeable in that process. Salt and cornmeal were the main ingredients for preparing the skins for transport and to keep the hair on the hides, a different process to preparing a hide for making into leather. The natives had several hides rolled and curing, the men spending the end of each day shaking out the salt or cornmeal rubbed into the skins depending on the stage, before rolling them up once more. This way the hides should survive the trip back to Boma where they would be finally prepared by the local taxidermist for the long journey back to England.   
The smell of the skins just added to the overall miasma of sweating men, creating a scent that drove off lions and warned other predators quite effectively if they happened to be downwind of the heavily armed trekkers.

The land they were crossing was rising steadily, a distant smudge on the horizon indicating they were approaching the plateau that was their destination. In the foothills, in a village called N'Caso, they expected to spend time at a French Catholic Mission that had been long established in the area. The missionaries tended to the local tribes, providing rudimentary hospital care where necessary, taught the youngsters to read and write when allowed and spread the word of God and His good works whenever the opportunity arose. It would be the last stop before climbing up to the plateau.  
Jamie longed for a hot bath and real soap. Her daily sluice in tepid water helped to keep her clean, but she longed to smell something other than dust, sweaty males, and the rancid hides. The days of trekking had sliced a good deal of excess weight off everyone in the white contingent, everybody much leaner than when they'd started weeks ago back in Boma. The weakest members of the men had already been left behind or were being transported back to civilization. The natives were hardened to the land, not fazed by the heat, insects or harsh environment, probably thinking the white men touched in the head to be marching fully clothed in such heat. Many of those that wore hats started to adopt Jamie's style with the hanging netting to keep the biting insects from savaging their skin, although rolled-up sleeves left expanses of skin to become bitten or burnt by the ferocious sun. Despite being covered up, they were all developing darker skin wherever the sun was able to touch, mostly arms and hands, faces and necks if left uncovered. Jamie had sprouted a fine crop of freckles all over her face, further hiding her feminine identity offset by her delicate looking frame. Nonetheless, she kept up with the pace set by the leaders and guides, never faltering and earning the admiration of her native escorts for her tenacity regardless of her size. She never complained, unlike several of her compatriots and never took a kindness for granted. When she drank her ration of water earlier in the day than usual, she faced the prospect of a very hot afternoon without a drink to wash the dust from her mouth. When they stopped briefly to negotiate a narrow track through a monstrous, cracked boulder that only allowed one man at a time, one of the natives tapped her on the shoulder and indicated with expressive hands that he wanted to refill her water bottle. She protested in her limited vocabulary that she didn't want to rob the man of his share, especially as all the natives had such heavy loads to carry, but they were ignored, another man producing a large animal skin full of water that was used to distribute water among the bearers and which was now offered for her to use as well. Not being stupid, Jamie quickly proferred her canteen which was filled and she was able to drink her fill. Despite the language barrier, she had somehow become a favorite of the tall, stately dark-skinned men and they were willing to share what they had with her, much to her deepest appreciation. 

The mission was a number of mudbrick buildings with thatched rooves, one sporting a wooden bell tower and a small bell. A village had grown up around the mission and the local children ran out to welcome the strangers. It took several minutes for the entire column of men to arrive in front of the main building, a tall man dressed all in white from his hat to his feet and sporting the largest, bushiest beard Jamie had ever seen, appearing from the doorway of what she assumed was the church to walk forward and shake hands with Lord Reiden. The bearers found shade and settled their burdens on the ground before squatting down to rest. The white men in the party surged forward to meet the French missionary, a Father Pierre who shook hands with everyone, including Jamie, before ushering them all towards a long, low building in the center of the complex. There was no glass in any of the windows, but they still had crossbars across the holes as if they were just waiting for the glass to arrive. Inside was blessedly cooler and deeply shaded, revealing long tables and benches where meals or meetings were held, the party of travelers waved to take a seat and rest while beakers here handed out and cool water offered to wash the dust from their tongues and teeth.   
The women who bustled around serving the drinks were dressed as nuns in plain grey dresses that covered them from their necks to their ankles, wearing a white apron over that and a white headscarf. All of them where African natives, as were the male servants, dressed in bleached cotton jackets and trousers. Fr. Pierre wore a long, white cassock with a knotted cord. He'd taken off his hat when he'd entered the building, revealing that his hair was a luxuriant as his beard, a dark brown sprinkled liberally with grey hairs. Under bushy eyebrows he had deep-set, piercing green eyes that held a wealth of emotion, but could just as easily hide a wealth of pain.   
Jamie looked out one of the windows and was glad to see that their bearers were being given fresh drinking water as well as food by more of the women in grey dresses.  
Fr. Pierre was speaking animatedly with Jackson Oz, the younger man speaking in fluent French, something that pleased the priest. Lord Reiden listened in, as did most of the table, but few of them were as conversant in the language as the guide appeared to be. At length Fr. Pierre spoke to the assembled men in English, extolling them to take advantage of the pallets lined up against the wall if they were tired, and that he would be available if there were any among them that wanted to attend services in the church to be held that evening. He also offered confession to anyone wanting absolution. The priest also directed anyone with an illness or injury to attend the clinic in another building, and that his resident nurses would do all they could. It was still only early in the afternoon, so Jamie slipped out to take a walk around the village. Several large trees provided welcome shade for many of the dwellings, well-trodden paths leading off in all directions once you left the central cleared area in front of the church. Taking one of these paths, she followed a small group of women dressed in gaily patterned sarongs and carrying basins on their heads towards the sound of running water. Like many of the villages they'd encountered, this had a good source of clean drinking, washing and bathing water for the villagers, along with a well dug closer to the main buildings for easy access. In the heat of the day, several groups of naked youngsters were splashing in the shallows under the overhanging branches, cooling off while their mothers and sisters washed cooking utensils or did washing on the flat, shaded rocks that formed giant stepping stones across the ankle-deep cataract. The urge to immerse herself in the water proved too enticing and Jamie quickly took off her boots, ignoring the stares of the women and children, who quickly lost interest in the stranger and returned to their own business, the air full of their chattering and laughter.   
Jamie slipped into the water and squatted down to dunk her head under. Her toes dug into the silt on the bottom as she proceeded to shrug off her jacket and shirt, leaving her in her under-vest that covered her chest bindings. Her trousers were next, leaving her only in her underthings. After draping her clothes over a handy, low-hanging branch, she wallowed in the water, sitting flat on the sandy bottom and just enjoying the silky feel of the water flowing over her limbs. The sound of the trickling water, the laughter of the children and constant chatter of the woman, along with the slapping sounds of cloth hitting stones soon lulled her into a doze.

“So this is where you've been hiding!” the male voice jerked her from her rest.  
“You should come in, this is heaven on earth,” she suggested, squinting up at Mitch as he stood on the bank above her head, blocking out the splinters of sunlight that bled through the branches overhead.   
“I think I will.” He started to divest himself of his outer clothes, pulling them off to land in a heap until he was stripped down to his shorts. He waded into the water which was barely up to his knees and sank down to sit on the river bottom before stretching out to let the water cover him. He tilted his head back to soak his head then rested on his bent elbows to survey the domestic scene further along the bank. “You're right, this is heaven on earth.”  
“Told you.” Jamie was still sitting up and started to scoop handfuls of water up and over her head and face. “I think I might just sleep here tonight.”  
Mitch laughed. “You might not think it so comfortable when the eels and fish find you, let alone when the leeches, water lice, and snakes start to investigate.”  
Jamie shuddered. “Why did you have to spoil it?”  
Mitch shrugged. “All this beauty is deceptive. If you relax too much you forget that pretty much everything is out to kill, infest, poison or eat you in this country.”  
“Good heavens, spoil the mood, why don't you?”  
He shrugged again. “Sorry. Never pays to take all this at face value.”  
Jamie shivered. “I don't.”  
They sat in the water, side by side, just enjoying being relatively cool and clean for five minutes. At length, Jamie stirred and went to see how her clothes were drying out. The women and children had largely left the small riverside to return to their huts. Finding her clothes only damp, she pulled them on and redressed. Her timing was perfect as a large contingent of the bearers and some of their own party now arrived to investigate the river and take advantage of the chance to wash clothes and just soak in the cooler waters. Some dived in fully clothed, others left their clothing in a pile on the riverbank and splashed into the water stark naked. Jamie, completely inured to the sight of naked masculinity, turned her back and left them to it. Refreshed and feeling reasonably presentable, she went to enter the church, pulling off her hat and holding it in her hands before walking the few steps needed to enter the dark depths. After the brightness outside it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. Polished pews flanked a narrow aisle to the altar ahead while a single window pierced the back wall. That one, like all the rest, had no glass in it, just the cross bracing as if it had. A large, locally carved plain wooden cross adorned the whitewashed mud wall behind the simple altar and two candlesticks stood starkly on the altar itself. This was also made of wood and currently covered with a plain white cloth. Her boots were silent on the beaten earth floor and she took a pew towards the back. The thick walls dulled any noise from outside so she sat in relative silence, dust motes visible, floating thickly in the air when a ray of sunlight found a way through the thick canopy of the trees as the sun lowered. The church smelled of beeswax polish and freshly sawn wood, so familiar and yet so alien being so distant from its origins.   
“Can I help you, my child?”  
Jamie jumped, not expecting anyone else and caught up in her own thoughts.   
“Oh. Um. I was just sitting...”  
The priest chuckled and sat beside her, a couple of feet of space between them. “There is no crime in just sitting, child. I just came in to prepare myself in case any of your friends were looking for an opportunity to take confession. Are you here for that purpose?”  
Jamie kept her head down, not sure how much of her true identity would be evident to this man of God. “Um...not really.”  
“Ah. So you are not burdened with sin? You are extraordinary to be so.”  
Jamie felt herself blushing. “I'm sure I'm as full of sin as anyone.”  
“Honesty is always a good path to take. I am not here to judge you, my child, or unmask you...”  
Jamie looked up suddenly, meeting his hooded green eyes with her own. “Un-unmask?”  
“I may not be a young man, but I can still recognize a member of the female species when I see one.”  
Jamie pressed her back against the wall, facing him but now at bay. “You can't tell anyone...”  
Fr. Pierre twisted to face her. “You would need to give me a compelling reason to keep your feminity a secret. It is vastly unseemly for a woman to travel unchaperoned among so many men. Do none of them know what you are?”  
Jamie stared back at him warily. “One does. The rest don't.”  
“And this one, does he protect you from the others?”  
“He doesn't need to protect me, as such, I'm in no danger while they think me a boy.”  
“But if the truth were to come out, would he protect you?”  
She nodded. Fr. Pierre pursed his lips, but his eyes weren't condemning, rather they were sympathetic. “I think you are in need of confession more than any of those men beyond these walls. Would you kneel with me?”  
He went down on his knees on the beaten earth and Jamie slowly joined him, bending her head, her brain very far from being settled and quiet as she strove to find a way out of her current predicament. If the priest chose to tell Lord Reiden of her true identity, her inclusion in the trek would be terminated and she'd be left here at the mission. The prospect wasn't a bad one, but it wasn't what she wanted to do. She had proved her worth, proven that she was up to the rigors of the trip to the plateau and was not prepared to be denied seeing what it was they had come to see, just because her gender was an issue. She also didn't want to miss any chance to be with Mitch, even if currently that was simply sharing a tent and nothing more.   
“Does this person care for you?”  
Jamie jerked out of her internal monologue and turned to look at the priest. “I care for him.”  
“Enough to join his life with yours?” he asked.  
Jamie stared at him. “You mean, would he marry me?”  
The priest nodded. Jamie turned away and chewed her lip. “I don't know.” In truth, she didn't know the answer to that question. That he cared, there was no doubt. But enough to shackle himself to her? That was up for debate. “I don't know,” she repeated.   
“I think we should leave that answer to the man himself. Tell me who he is.”  
Jamie squeezed her eyes shut. “I can't.”  
“Do you so little trust him that you won't include him in this decision?”  
Jamie opened her eyes. “What if he doesn't want me....like that?”  
“Is he already married?”  
“I don't think so, no...he's not.”  
“Then he is free to take on his responsibility for you, is he not?”  
“It has never come up in discussion before.”  
“Has it not?”  
“No.”  
“Then I think it is about time it was discussed. If you were to be married, then he has every legal right to protect you in any situation and under any circumstances. I don't question why this has persisted for so long, only that to save your immortal soul it should be rectified as soon as possible.”  
Jamie hung her head, listening to his softly accented words and thinking that given what had already happened between her and Mitch, it would be for the best. She was sure of her own feelings, but not so sure of his. This would undoubtedly confirm the issue one way or the other.


	7. The Plateau

Chapter Seven – The Plateau

Mitch was walking back from his soak in the river when the tall figure of the French missionary approached him.   
“Doctor Morgan?”  
“The same.”  
“I wonder if you could spare me some of your time?”  
“Of course. Is there a medical matter?”  
“No. Nothing like that. You have a young lad...under your protection, I believe?”  
“I do. A stable boy, Jamie Campbell.”  
“It is about the...boy that I wish to speak to you about.”  
“I'm listening,” Mitch replied, his defensive hackles rising. What had Jamie done now?  
“If you'd like to enter my office?” Father Pierre indicated the church and Mitch nodded. Together the two men entered the dark interior, Mitch blinking to adjust his eyes to the change in light. The church was empty, but when his eyes adjusted he saw a figure sitting hunched in one of the pews. Resigned to the possibility that Jamie had got herself into another scrape, Mitch let out a sigh.   
“What did he do this time?” he asked.   
Father Pierre turned to look back at him, his expression puzzled, then it cleared. “You misunderstand me, the young lady hasn't done anything wrong...”  
“Wait...what?” Mitch was taken aback at the easy way the man casually unmasked their careful disguise. Jamie was looking at him and lifted her shoulders in apology. Father Pierre continued to speak, ignoring the silent communication between his companions.  
“I have been talking with Jamie for a little while and she tells me that you are the only one on this expedition that knows her true identity?”  
Mitch nodded, not at all sure what was playing out. He sat down on the end of the same pew that Jamie perched. “That's correct. She stowed away on our ship, an all-male ship, and it was deemed prudent to hide her gender...at the time.”  
“And since?”  
“Yeah. It seemed the sensible thing to do.” Mitch could feel sweat trickling down his back and his palms were moist.   
“And yet her identity was not hidden to me? Could it not also be known to others who choose, for their own reasons not to speak up about it?”  
Mitch darted a glance at Jamie who stared back helplessly.   
“Possibly, but there's been no indication...”  
Father Pierre made a rude noise and waved his hands dismissively. “Regardless of whether anyone knows or not, I now know and I cannot just pretend that the young lady is not travelling in the company of a large number of men and if her gender were to become common knowledge, she wouldn't be subject to all manner of abuses, even possibly lose her life!” The man didn't raise his voice, but there was no mistaking his outrage.  
Jamie's face blushed bright pink and Mitch hung his head. Father Pierre looked satisfied with their reaction.   
“Are you prepared to protect her? Do you have the right, Doctor Morgan, to protect her?!”  
Mitch looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Of course I'd protect her. I'd do anything for her...”  
Father Pierre smiled benevolently. “Would you marry her?”  
Mitch glanced briefly at Jamie, his expression fierce, then turned back to face the priest. “In a heartbeat. If she'd have me.”  
Jamie looked stunned, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. Father Pierre clapped his hands and beamed, his teeth unexpectedly white behind his thick beard.   
“Then I propose, my children, that we do just that...right now.”  
Mitch stood up. “I have to get something first. It won't take a minute.”  
“Do what you need to do, I will get a couple of things and see you back here shortly, my son.”  
Mitch turned and marched out of the church, Jamie staring after him.   
“You faith in him is fully justified, mon enfant. Now, I will return in a minute so stay here. You will not run?” he asked. Jamie turned her head to look up at him.  
“No.”  
“Bon. Think happy thoughts, mon chere, you are about to be a bride!”  
Within seconds Jamie was once more alone in the church, somewhat taken aback at the speed of events overtaking her. 

Father Pierre intoned the words of the marriage service over the heads of the man and woman standing in front of him. Their hands were joined and a ring glowing on the woman's left hand. The two women he'd brought along to act as witnesses stood smiling broadly at the couple. Neither appeared surprised that the bride looked more like an urchin boy than a wife, dressed as she was in a grubby suit of creased linen and her head unevenly shorn, the groom barely better dressed, his overlong hair and unshaven face lending an air of dishevelment to the proceedings. But none of the witnesses to this strange marriage could fault the looks of genuine affection and emotion that passed between the pair when they thought no one was paying attention. The way he held her hand, the dimples that creased his cheek when he smiled down at her, the way she gazed up at him, her heart in her eyes, lips pulled into a sweet smile. When the line was read that the groom could now kiss his bride, the groom pulled his new wife into his arms and enthusiastically expressed his feelings, while the bride wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the sentiment tenfold. Only the sound of Father Pierre clearing his throat repeatedly recalled the happily engrossed couple to their surroundings.   
“You just need to sign some documents and you can go on your way. Sister Nan and Sister Mia will no more speak of this than I will.”  
They hurriedly completed the paperwork, Jamie signing her new name for the first time, a thrill going through her each time she looked at the ring. Mitch completed his part of the documentation, which Father Pierre folded up after blotting the ink dry and then handed to him.   
“Go in peace, my children, and praise God for this happy day. In the name of the Father.....”  
Jamie made the sign of the cross on herself, Mitch doing the same, then they were walking down the aisle towards the bright sunlight beyond the doorway. Before they stepped outside, Mitch pulled her into the very last pew. He waited for Father Pierre and the two nun's to leave before speaking.   
“Where do we go from here?” Mitch asked. Jamie stared back at him, unable to wipe the grin off her face.   
“I don't know, husband....” she giggled. “I'm sorry, I'm just having a hard time dealing with the speed this all happened.”  
He smiled back, eyes warm behind his glasses. “I have to admit getting married wasn't top of my list of things to do today. Do you regret it?”  
“No! You?”  
“Nope. Not one bit,” he instantly replied, the pair of them grinning at each other like loons.   
“Do we keep up the masquerade?” he asked, his expression turning solemn.  
“Do we really have a choice? If I 'come out' now, you can be sure I'll be left here to wait for your return.” She frowned. “And goodness knows how long that will be. I want to be with you.”  
Mitch stared back, his eyes roaming over her face, seeing the earnest emotion in her expression.   
“I want you with me too, but it gets more dangerous from here on. I don't want to put you at risk...”  
“You won't be. Don't separate us now we've just got together.” She leaned forward and kissed him, ignoring the open door behind them. Mitch returned her kiss with flattering enthusiasm, his hand cradling the back of her head to angle her mouth better for him to plunder. The sound of voices drew them apart, Mitch scooting up against the wall, into the shadows, just as a group of their own men entered the gloomy interior of the church, taking off their hats as they entered. The pair in the back pew were largely overlooked as the men walked down the aisle and took seats on either side. Only when they started to look around the small building did they notice the Doctor and the boy sitting at the back.   
“You beat us to it, Doc!” one man called out, Mitch lifting his hand to acknowledge the greeting.  
“I thought a bit of religion couldn't hurt,” he replied, the men laughing quietly among themselves.   
Soon Father Pierre arrived in company with Lord Reiden and his party, including his agent and Mr. Black, the photographer who instantly started to look around for the best position to take a picture from. Jamie shuffled along the pew to allow the photographer to perch on the end, placing her closer to Mitch up against the wall. Under cover of the shadows, they joined hands, unseen by anyone, not even Mr. Black.   
The service wasn't long and Father Pierre chose a hymn well known to everyone to sing at the end, the small chapel resounding to the unaccompanied male singing ringing through the rafters. Jamie kept her voice low and quiet, still holding on to Mitch's fingers as they stood side by side. They parted with the end of the service and were the first to file out into the bright afternoon sunshine, the rest of the congregation streaming out behind them. Jamie slipped off her wedding ring and tucked it in one of the many pockets decorating her jacket. She would look for a cord or chain to hang it on to keep it safe for the rest of the time. Mitch was talking to Reiden and the agent and Jamie took the opportunity to head for the kitchen building to look for something to eat and drink. 

The tents had been pitched as they usually were and she retired that evening without fuss long before the rest of the men did. This time she arranged to have two buckets available and broke into her tiny hoard of soap chips to scent the water in one of them. She washed herself, including her hair as thoroughly as she could, slipping on her voluminous nightshirt before sitting on her cot. Tonight she wouldn't be asleep when Mitch retired, but awake and waiting for him. She took out her wedding ring and slipped it on her finger, wishing for once that her hair wasn't so cropped and her hands so careworn. The tent opening was pulled back and Mitch was there, tucking it closed behind him, even tying some of the cords, effectively 'locking' the tent to any casual caller.   
“You've bathed?” he asked.   
“I even used soap. I left the water for you...”  
“Are you ready for this? I mean...”  
“More than ready, Mitch.”  
“Okay.” He started to pull off his clothes until he was down to his shorts, then he started to wash, Jamie busying herself with folding his discarded clothes, her back to him while he bathed. When that was done, he dried himself off, still wearing his now damp shorts, and put the buckets aside. He pulled the blankets and pillows off the cots and made a thin bed on the hard ground.   
“I'd prefer we had a feather mattress for our wedding night, but this will have to do...”  
Jamie turned to watch him in the dim light inside the tent. “This won't be our first time, Mitch.”  
He stood up and faced her. “What do you mean?”  
Jamie hung her head. “You don't remember that night, in Boma, when you'd had too much of Reiden's brandy?”  
Mitch gaped at her. “That wasn't a dream?”  
She shook her head. Mitch used both hands to scrub his hair back from his face. “Good God, I thought it was just a fantasy, one I'd dreamed so many times, but this time just more real than the others. But we did? We made love?”  
Jamie nodded. “It was wonderful.”  
Mitch looked somewhat scandalized. “And you didn't think to remind me?”  
She shook her head. “You had such a hangover and it was clear you didn't remember, so...I didn't tell you.”  
Mitch stood with his hands resting on his hips. “Well, I'm not making that mistake again. Come here, wife and let me impress you all over again and this time I surely won't forget the experience!”  
Jamie stepped forward as he did and they met, standing on the blankets. Mitch removed his glasses and let them fall on the abandoned cot, before cupping her face between his hands and kissing her softly. She pressed herself against him, her unbound breasts hard against his chest, only the soft cotton acting as a barrier between them.   
“You don't need this,” Mitch growled, pulling the nightshirt over her head and leaving her naked, his hands running over her back and arms, their rough texture over her skin sending shivers of anticipation and desire down her spine. Her fingers were making similar explorations of his chest and sides, spreading wide to smooth over the long planes of his back and shoulders. Soon they were down on the blankets, Mitch kissing every bit of skin he could reach, Jamie working on divesting him of his shorts, the garment quickly removed and sent flying off into a dark corner. Now they were naked together, everything beyond the limits of the tent forgotten or ignored in the heat of their coming together. Eager to consummate their union, Jamie grasped him in her hand, loving the feel of velvet over hot steel, the strength and maleness of his body in contrast to her soft feminity so erotic and exciting. Mitch was suckling on her breasts, teasing the stiff points of her nipples sending spikes of tension through her belly and clenching her insides. His fingers sought the intimate folds between her legs, pleased to find her wet and wanting, ready for him. He kissed her and positioned himself above her, parting her legs more fully and seating himself at the juncture. They were both breathing heavily, anticipating the sweet joining of their bodies, sweat beading on brow and lip, the dew eagerly lapped from the skin as he pushed forward, her body welcoming his return with slick moisture and heat. He slid home, finding no resistance, his hardness completely encased in her core, Jamie letting out a mew of satisfaction to have him once more joined with her, the moment more meaningful now they were man and wife. Mitch could honestly say he'd never felt anything so wonderful in his life, the meeting of body, mind and heart in one person adding layers to the basic bodily function that had never been there before, his desire to cherish warring with the urge to possess and scream to the heavens that she was his and no-one else's, his woman, his love, his heaven on earth for him alone. He moved and everything dissolved into the passion between them, bodies moving as one on the hard bed of mother earth, limbs entwined, breaths mingling, lips meetings, altogether in one glorious union. He wanted to roar like a lion, he wanted it to never end, he wanted to stay joined like this forever in bliss.  
All too soon the tingling in his balls presaged the culmination of their lovemaking, Jamie already shaking and keening her climax, albeit quietly in deference to the tents that surrounded them. He bent his head to muffle his deep groan of completion against her shoulder, her arms cradling him against her, her legs holding him as he shook and poured his essence into her. It was done, in the eyes of the law, the church and the universe they were mated until death did them part. 

Jamie stirred to the early morning sounds of the village rising with the sun. Mitch lay beside her, curled on his side, his face years younger relaxed in sleep, his lashes dark against his cheek, the furrow smoothed from between his brows. Their lovemaking had been wonderful and exciting, her body the violin to his bow, her desires fulfilled only to rise again until they lay wrapped in each other's arms and slept, completed sated. Now their wedding night was over and they faced an ordinary day where he ignored her and she stayed out of sight for the most part.   
She rose, sweeping the netting draped over their temporary bed to one side and used the tepid water in the bucket and a towel to wash, paying special attention to between her legs. Her thighs ached but she reveled in the feeling, knowing the cause. Patted dry, she quickly dressed, bending down to rouse her husband before leaving to seek out something to eat. The night had left her tired, certainly, but more it had left her with a keen appetite, one she hoped to appease before too long. A few others were already in the kitchen hut and she joined them at the table, careful not to let her heartwarming glee break out on her face in broad grins and twinkling, knowing glances. The men were always short of entertainment, just looking for something to jump on and amuse themselves with. Soon a cauldron of the local equivalent of porridge arrived and she was doled out her share, bending her head to spoon the fragrant, spiced mealy breakfast into her mouth and prevent having to talk at all. Soon the room started to fill up as others awoke and arrived for the first meal, Jamie finishing hers, allowing her to escape before the last white man had sat down. She wandered out into the pale sunlight and put her hat on, rolling the netting up onto the brim for the time being. She had seen Mitch enter the hut in company with Reiden and the agent and studiously avoided meeting his eye. Last night would have to hold them for a while, her face finally allowed to break out into the grin she'd been holding back all morning. With a skip, she ran down the path to the river, passing the group of porters enjoying their well-earned respite and a hearty meal served by women of the village. At the river's edge, a well-trodden path lured her to walk along the water's edge, her interest taken up by the enormous dragonflies hovering over the river's surface, the occasional fish jumping up to try and catch them as they darted erratically above. Not paying attention, she almost tripped over the couple on the ground among the reeds. It was one of the grooms and he was laying on top of a native girl, her eyes so wide that the whites were visible around the circumference. Her arrival had made the groom scramble to his feet, his trousers clutched around his knees. The girl instantly tried to scuttle away, her sarong dress torn and pushed above her thighs.   
Jamie stared at the man and he stared back, then she went to back away and he reached out for her, the girl at their feet starting to wail, tears pouring down her face. Jamie staggered but avoided the man's outstretched hand, turning on her heel and starting to run back along the way she'd come. The groom shouted after her, struggling to get his trousers up and give chase, but Jamie had a good lead and sprinted along the track, reaching the washing ledge and turning to race towards the village only a few minutes down the track. She could hear the man behind her starting to gain ground, crashing through the elephant grass in a bid to cut her off.   
Putting on a burst of speed she worked her arms and legs, lungs laboring and burst into the village square, colliding with Gordon Black, the pair of them falling back into the dirt. Behind her, the groom burst into view, skidding to a halt, suddenly aware that all eyes were on the two on the ground, and now on him, his shirt untucked and his braces hanging down.   
“What in God's name?” Reiden's voice boomed out, a circle forming around the three. Jamie scrambled to her feet and hid behind the photographer as the man righted himself and started to dust off his clothes. The groom made to backtrack, only now realizing the foolishness of chasing the stable boy. He was cut off from escape by a phalanx of villagers. Now the other person involved in the farce appeared, the girl arriving in the arms of her female relatives, weeping and wailing, her young age apparent among the more mature women around her.   
The groom decided to be hung for sheep as for a lamb. “I caught the little bleeder attacking that girl!” he accused, flinging his arm out to point at Jamie.   
Jamie gaped at his effrontery. “You bastard! It wasn't me, it was you!”  
The girl broke into another peal of heartfelt wails and Reiden turned a disgruntled face towards her.   
“How's a man supposed to think with that caterwauling going on.”  
One of the natives stepped forward and spoke, Abraham pushing to the front of the crowd to translate.   
“He says that someone has defiled his daughter and payment is due. He has come for justice.”  
The groom stepped forward, jabbing his hand at Jamie. “It was him, the cheeky shit thought to get his end away with the girl, I saw 'em together and went to pull him off!”  
“And yet you are the one with your clothes in disarray...” the agent, Cyrus Collins observed.   
The native father started to talk again over the babble of the villagers. Abraham listened then started to translate.   
“He demands payment for the loss of his daughter virginity.”  
Reiden was looking at Jamie who was still poised to flee behind Mr. Black. “What say you, boy?”  
Jamie turned to Lord Reiden, hurriedly remembering what she was supposed to be.   
“Wot he says is not true. It was me that tripped over him. He was laying on that girl and she was crying, 'er dress all torn. When he saw me he jumped up, his trousers about his ankles. I took off and he chased me. I'm sorry I knocked Mr. Black over, but I was in a bit of a hurry, so to speak.”  
“Was the girl willing?” Lord Reiden asked.   
Jamie looked over at the girl. “ 'Er fists were clenched and you could see the whites of 'er eyes. I don't fink she was enjoying it much.”  
Reiden nodded and turned to the father. “How old is your daughter?”  
Abraham translated and the answer came back quickly. “He says she's just twelve summers.”  
The words dropped into the silence of the village clearing like nails being hammered into a coffin. The groom tried to make a break for it but was restrained by his former friends and workmates. His efforts to appear innocent were cast to the wind and he cursed, volubly. At Jamie, at the girl at the natives and at Lord Reiden, even. Eventually, he ran out of puff and slumped.   
Father Pierre had joined the group and stared ferociously at the man. “You were welcomed here as a guest and this is how you repay our hospitality?” he thundered, his fist raised at the groom.   
“We will, of course, pay full reparation for your loss,” Reiden replied, bowing slightly to the father. He waited until Abraham translated, then turned to Father Pierre.   
“If there is any issue, that will be included in that accounting, of course.”  
“What do you plan to do with him?” the priest asked, gesturing to the groom.   
“Do you have a suggestion?” Reiden asked. “What is the local penalty for child rape?”  
The groom started to struggle again, fighting the hands that held him tight.   
Father Pierre spoke to the father in his own language, Abraham only translating for the sake of the white folk listening.   
“The priest asks the father what he thinks is fit punishment for the ravisher of his daughter.” Everyone turned to see the father make an explicit hand gesture at his groin, indicating quite clearly what he thought should happen to the groom. The man accused saw the gesture and started to fight again, screaming for mercy and for his friends to let him go, the diatribe devolving to a babble of swearing and cursing.  
Jamie stood white-faced, no longer included in the proceedings.  
“Offer the father his price in whatever manner he chooses. Also, offer Doctor Morgan's services to aid the girl if she needs medical attention. As for the punishment...we will need to deliberate. Is there somewhere he can be locked up?” Lord Reiden asked.  
“We have a small hut for that purpose. Usually, when someone gets too drunk they are put there to dry out,” Father Pierre explained.  
“Sounds perfect.” Reiden indicated for the men holding the groom to take him there directly. A crowd followed, watching as the groom was pushed into the small hut and the door secured behind him. As Jamie stood there, Doctor Morgan approached the father and, with Abraham's help, offered his medical help for the girl. His offer was declined, albeit gracefully, the girl already being taken away by her mother and relatives to be cleaned and taken care of.   
Soon the clearing was empty of people, only Lord Reiden, Mitch, Mr. Black and Cyrus Collins left behind.  
“Can I go now, sir?” Jamie asked, wanting nothing more than to lay down and get over the shock of what had just happened. Reiden waved her away and she scuttled off, meeting Mitch's eyes briefly before she ran the short distance to their tent and threw herself down on the cot, her hot face buried in the pillow. All her happiness of the morning was gone, the fate of a man's life hanging in the balance all because she went for a walk. To be fair, she wasn't at fault for the man raping the child, and she wouldn't wish him to get away with such a heinous crime unpunished. Still, she'd seen the expression on the girl's father's face and it didn't bode well for the former groom to remain unmutilated for long. 

She stayed in the tent catching up on her sleep lost the night before. Mitch had been in to check on her but she was too deeply asleep to notice, not even feeling the press of his lips on her cheek before he left her. He had asked one of the porters, the man usually in the group that walked beside her, to place himself outside the tent and keep watch, the man accepting his new role without batting an eyelid. Jamie would have been horrified and astonished to know how many of the porters were well aware of her gender, not bothering to question the madness of the white devils to take just one woman on the expedition with them, or treat her like she was a boy when she was clearly not. They were there to earn money for their families and nothing more. If the white men wanted to dress up in animal hides and howl at the moon it would be ignored as long as they paid on time and didn't stint. After the events of the morning, having the tall Daktari ask for a guard to be put on his woman was not exactly surprising or a hardship. The native was only surprised he'd taken so long to ask. 

When Jamie finally emerged to take part in the evening meal the news was doing the rounds of the village. The rapist had somehow managed to escape from his confinement and run away. It was being discussed as to whether they set out in pursuit of him or let the Jungle decide his fate. Mitch argued that they couldn't, in all humanity, leave the man to cope on his own without supplies or any understanding of the dangers he courted. The father of the girl agreed and soon a small party of villagers was organized to accompany Lord Reiden and Doctor Morgan, along with several men of their own party and the two guides, to go and search for the escapee. Despite the oncoming night, they took sufficient supplies to stay away one night, the expectation that the man had not gone far the likely outcome. Mitch returned briefly to their tent and Jamie went too.  
“Do you have to go?”  
Mitch shoved some items into a knapsack and hastily slung it over his shoulder. “You know I do. If he's injured I can help.”  
Jamie dug her booted toe into the ground. “You will be careful?”  
He looked at her, her concern for him endearing. “I'll be extra careful, I promise. I asked Haruni to stand guard on the tent for me.”  
“Oh. You don't think I'm safe here?”  
“I think you can trust Haruni in my absence. Either him or Father Pierre.” He stared at her downcast face for a moment. “We'll be back tomorrow, I'm sure. Try not to worry.”  
He bent and captured her lips with his, her arms holding him around the neck for a few precious moments before releasing him. Then he brushed past her and was gone. She followed and watched as the native contingent, armed with spears and clubs joined Lord Reiden and his posse, all of them formidably armed with guns and machetes. They looked more like a war party than a search party. There was still several hours before full dark and they had established where the trail started, so they set off, those staying behind watching until they were out of sight, then returning to whatever tasks they had still to do. Father Pierre came over to stand next to Jamie who stared at the trail although the search party was long gone.   
“Come with me, child. You can help the good sisters in the kitchen. It will take your mind off matters for a while.”  
Jamie looked up at him and nodded. “Sure. What can I do to help?”

The guides, Jackson and Abraham, had no difficulty following the path of the fleeing man through the tall grass. Despite being assured the man carried no weapons when he'd entered the hut, somehow he'd been given or found a tool to allow him to dig through the mud wall and let him escape. They had no idea what other supplies he might have, but they were sure that a lone man, inexperienced in the ways of the jungle and savanna would soon fall prey to one or other of the predators that hunted among the trees and shrubs. Leopards, cheetahs, lions, hyenas, even wild dogs could all take down a man on his own with no weapons or knowledge to aid him. Half an hour into the search Jackson stopped dead and knelt down to inspect the ground.   
“This is odd.”  
Lord Reiden moved forward to see why they'd stopped. “What's the hold-up?” he asked.   
Abraham, or Abe as he preferred to be called stood over his friend, his keen eyes scanning the foliage around them.   
“We have found some strange tracks.”  
“So? Let's push on!” Lord Reidon demanded. Abe shook his head.   
“We will wait until Rafiki is sure it is safe to continue. We do not want to run into a pack of hyenas or pride of lions unaware.”  
Reiden laughed and brandished his massive elephant gun – the point-five-five Black Powder Express, the pride of his collection. “Let them come, we are more than prepared.”  
Abe looked at the man, his face a blank mask. “We will wait until Rafiki leads us forward.” To emphasize his stand, the six-foot-six African folded his beefy arms over his chest and prepared to remain where he was.   
Staring up at the imposing figure, Reiden waved his hand in surrender. “Fine. But the longer we wait the more likely our fugitive will, in fact, end up as bush meat.” Turning away, Reiden signaled for his personal servant to bring up his camp chair on which to sit until Jackson cleared them to move forward. Minutes later Mitch approached the guides, his attitude non-threatening.  
“What's up?”  
Jackson stood up and pointed to the tracks at his feet. “Something strange. These tracks are not what I was expecting.”  
“How so?”  
Jackson turned to face the doctor. “Lion prides are usually made up of a dominant male lion and his harem of lionesses and their cubs. These tracks belong only to male lions, I've found no tracks belonging to either lionesses or younger animals, male or females.”  
“How do you know the difference?” Mitch asked, peering at the deep pug marks in the dirt.   
“Size of the span, for the most part. And there's something else...” Jackson squatted down to point out the evidence on the ground. “Here, and here. All of these tracks are all male, and they are walking in a single line, one after the other....see?”  
Mitch bent over to see what he was pointing out. “I suppose. Is that unusual?”  
Jackson nodded. “Very. Many animals do walk in a line when confined by a narrow track through difficult or thick vegetation, but there's nothing to restrict the animals here, they could roam, as they usually do, at random.”  
“How old are these marks?”  
“Only hours old, which is also troubling.”  
“Why?”  
“Because this pride of all male lions is made up of at least twenty individuals.” He read the bafflement on the doctors face. “Male lions never hunt in a group. Once they are of age they are driven from the pride by the dominant male and then live alone until they reach maturity and can fight for their own pride, their own females a couple of years later. To find this number of male lions working together in a single group is simply impossible.”  
Jackson stood up and stared at the surrounding landscape of long grass and trees. “Just the fact that there are twenty lions roaming around this close to the village is also a worry. They need to be warned.”  
“What about our missing man?” Mitch asked.   
Jackson met his eyes. “These lions are hunting him. We'll be lucky to find his bones.”

They continued on, everyone watching and listening for any clue that the lions were up ahead. The trail they were following, left by the fugitive, had diverged from the lions but that only meant the animals were likely starting to encircle their prey, time now of the essence if they hoped to find the man alive.   
The grass around them was now shorter, no longer the height of a man, but more the height of a field of wheat and roughly the same color gold of a ripened crop, perfect camouflage for any lions laying in wait. The trees were now more widely spread and Jackson got one of the slighter natives to climb up into the branches and give a report of what he could see. They all stood around at the base of the tree, facing outwards until they heard what the native observed. Soon he was gesturing and jabbering in his native tongue, Abraham and Jackson listening closely to what he described.   
“What does he see?” Mitch asked.   
“He can see the trail our man has taken through the grass, but he can also see several other trails through the grass, flanking the man at some distance, but all of them heading in the same direction.”  
“The beasts are hunting him?” Reiden asked, shifting the gun in his grip.   
“Would appear so. We need to hurry and catch up before they close the trap on their prey.”  
They set off at a jog, following the central trail of their missing man, eating up the ground as quickly as possible, well aware that time was pressing with the sun going down and the lions up ahead.   
Within minutes their quarry was sighted, the former groom standing at bay at the base of a tree, a branch in his hand that he appeared to be waving at something to defend himself. Jackson pulled out a pistol and fired it into the air while still running, the man turning his head to stare at the men coming towards him. For a brief moment he looked relieved, but that moment was destroyed when the lead lion pounced, taking the man and his branch down to the ground. The rescue party was still fifty feet away when the screams rent the air above the growls of the lions. When Jackson and Abe simultaneously arrived on the scene, the man's body was gone along with the lions, a large area of blood and one boot all that was left behind. There were numerous trails through the grass leading to the tree and Jackson checked all of them, only one showed any evidence of blood.  
“They took him this way,” he pointed and prepared to set out.  
“Wait!” Reiden called out. “What are the chances that the man is still alive?”  
“Slim to none,” Abe replied. “This is a large pride of male lions. They have big appetites.”  
“So if we give chase, we are likely chasing a corpse.” His lordship asked.  
Abraham and Jackson exchanged a look. Jackson answered. “In all probability. There's a lot of blood on the ground.”  
“And these male lions are not behaving as you expect them to, so you have no idea how they'll react if we follow and try and take their prey from them?”  
Jackson shook his head, his lips pressed in a tight line. Everything Reiden said was unfortunately true. Even if they found the pride, they were up against mature animals, each one heavier and bigger than a man and more cunning. To take on such a large group of predators was madness in anyone's book. “I would have to say that unless you are prepared to sacrifice everyone in this group, the chances of returning this man alive are as Abe said – slim to none.”  
As they stood by the tree the sun finally sank below the treeline. Reiden looked up at the sky. “And it will be dark soon.”  
“True. Lions have the advantage of us in the dark, better hearing better eyesight and ability to smell.”  
“Then, unless anyone objects, I am suggesting we return to the village and set out again in the morning.” Reiden looked around the group of men, each of them clutching a gun, but all of them looking resigned to the inevitable. Their fugitive was lost, his fate decided. 

It was full dark when the search party returned, every second man holding a blazing torch up high. They had returned via the river to avoid the tall grasses that the sparks would have set on fire, along a well-trodden path used by the villagers for fishing off the banks. The men not carrying the torches were armed and alert, keeping watch for any sign that the lions were following or stalking the men on their return journey. In the end, they only heard the lions, the beasts roaring in the distance as if telling the men not to return or risk their wrath and certain death.   
Jamie, like the rest of Lord Reiden's men, was in the kitchen hut, watching and waiting, surprised when the party of searchers appeared from quite a different direction to the one taken. Jamie did a quick headcount and was relieved no one was missing from the original number. All the men looked solemn and serious, there being no evidence of them being successful in their hunt for the fugitive.   
The villagers also came out to see why the posse had returned so early, the family of the girl front and center. Lord Reiden handed off his weapons to one of the porters and stepped forward to address the crowd gathered around them.   
“The man we were looking for was taken by lions and is dead.”  
A collective intake of breath swept over the crowd, Abe translating Reiden's words into Bantu so everyone understood the situation. Reiden waited for Abe to finish then spoke again.  
“We will continue our search in the morning to recover his remains for a decent burial.”  
Again, Abe's voice rang out as he translated. When he was done, Jackson spoke up, speaking in the native tongue.   
“Be aware that there is a large pride of male lions nearby and this village is within their territory. Check your livestock and mend your fences. Until they leave the area and move on, everyone is at risk. Keep your children close and go gathering armed, in groups, and not alone.”  
Abe once more translated, this time for the benefit of the white men, while the villager started to talk amongst themselves, heads nodding and mothers clutching their children to them.   
Soon after the crowd of villagers started to disperse, hurrying back to check on their children, secure their huts and bring their stock indoors were possible.   
Lord Reiden led his weary searchers into the kitchen hut and sat down at one of the tables, the men doing the same around him. Jamie slipped into the building and found a seat, keen to hear what had happened. Mitch had seen her earlier and sent her a small smile at her tentative wave. Now he sat near Reiden, all of the men looking grim and serious.   
“Should we post a guard?” one of the agent's men asked.   
Father Pierre spoke up. “We have had a pride of lions nearby before, but they have never come close to the village and we have never lost so much as a goat to them.”  
“These are not your ordinary lions, father,” Jackson explained. “They don't move in the usual way, and they have proved themselves maneaters. It is common knowledge that once a lion gets the taste for an easy meal, it will do it again.”  
“You think it that serious?” Father Pierre asked. This time it was Abraham who spoke.   
“I think if it is possible, that the village builds a palisade or at the very least a thorn fence to deter these animals from exploring the chances of taking a stock animal or another human.”  
“Are you really going to risk going out there tomorrow just to find a corpse?” one of Reiden's staff asked.   
Reiden nodded. “No man, good or bad, should be left as carrion for the vultures to pick over. We will give him a decent burial.”  
A low murmur of voices filled the silence as the men talked among themselves. Those in the search party were served a meal for their troubles, and village beer was distributed among everyone else. Then it was time for each to seek their beds for the night.   
Jamie sat on her cot, still dressed, too wound up by events to sleep until she had assured herself that Mitch was all in one piece and unharmed. She had to wait for a long time, but at length, he pushed back the tent flap and entered, instantly seeing her when she jumped up to greet him.   
Without saying a word he simply opened his arms and she flew into them, her fingers digging into his back, hugging him as tightly as he was hugging her. He pressed kisses to her head as they stood there, pressed against each other.  
“God. What an awful business. The poor bastard never stood a chance,” he murmured, his cheek resting on the crown of her head.   
“Are you going out again tomorrow?”   
“No, thank goodness. Father Pierre wants to go, along with Reiden and the agent and guides, plus several of the villagers to find the body and give it a Christian burial. I don't imagine they'll find much to put in the ground. There were a lot of lions.”  
Jamie shuddered and clutched him more tightly. “Tell me it's not my fault this has happened?”  
Mitch wrapped his arms more closely about her. “Sweetheart, this wasn't your fault at all. The rogue raped a young girl, a heinous crime that would have gone unnoticed if it hadn't been brought to everyone's notice. He chose to escape into a what he knew was a dangerous place. Don't ever think this is your fault.”  
Jamie pulled back a little and stared up at him, worry creasing her brow. “Are we going to be safe in here?” She cast a glance at the thinness of the canvas walls.   
“We've arranged for a watch to stand guard over the village tonight and for as long as we are here. There are fires and torches burning which should also dissuade the beasts from coming too close, so don't fret, we are as safe as can be.”  
Jamie nodded, glad the villagers were doing something to protect themselves as well. Still, the thought of the lion pride padding just beyond the reach of the torchlight, waiting to take someone down, was a frightening thought to try and sleep on. 

The night passed without incident and the burial party left soon after sunrise to go in search of whatever was left of the former groom. Hours later they trudged back into the village, reporting that the mission had been successful, the remains interred and no sign of the lions other than scat and paw prints all headed in a direction that would take them further away from the village and its vulnerable inhabitants.   
Talk now turned to the continuation of the expedition and the path they would take to reach the top of the plateau, still some distance away. Some of the older villagers were familiar with the escarpment, having climbed it in their younger days. No one had been up to the top for many years, the area above the base considered the haunt of ghosts and evil spirits.  
“There was an unfortunate climbing accident, long before I even arrived, and I think that was the source of the rumors about ghosts.” Father Pierre told them. “Several of the climbers...well, their bodies were never recovered and since then the villagers are reluctant to hunt or graze their animals too close to the trail leading up to the plateau.”  
“They think it's haunted? What poppycock!” Lord Reiden retorted. “All I need is one to show us the best route to the top, then he can return to his village a richer man.”  
The elders who had been invited to the meeting to tell of their own trips to the plateau had a hurried conference among themselves. When it was over one stood up and spoke, Abe translating for the others.   
“He says his eldest son will take us up to the top. He says it will be difficult and dangerous and take most of one day to summit. It is suggested you make a base camp at the head of the trail before attempting the climb the next day at dawn. If you are agreeable.” Abe turned his head to look at Reiden.  
“Sounds reasonable. Anyone else have anything to add?” Reiden looked around the group, seeing only the shaking of heads and silence. “Then we head off tomorrow to the base of the plateau. Do we need to take extra precautions with these lions hereabouts?”  
“No,” Jackson replied. “But Abe and I will scout ahead just to be sure.”

Jamie walked behind the tall frame of one of the porters, another one behind her. They currently followed one behind the other until they were clear of the elephant grass, the track narrow for the next mile or so. She had said her goodbyes to Father Pierre the night before, given the early start to the next leg of their expedition. He suggested that she remain at the mission and wait for her husband and the rest to return, but there was no way Jamie was going to be separated from Mitch now. Whatever dangers or troubles he faced, she would be there with him. She had more than proved that the difficulties faced by everyone were not about to stop her, having faced them herself. She thanked the French missionary for his many kindnesses and then went to her tent. Mitch joined her there soon after and they made love, taking advantage of the relative privacy and comfort before settling down to sleep, knowing the dawn would be there without fail soon enough.   
The initial start of the trek had seen everyone very tense and on high alert, the two guides, Jackson and Abe setting out a half hour before the start to scout the trail for any evidence that the male lions were anywhere in the vicinity. The expedition was yet to catch up with them, so guns were very much in evidence, primed and ready for any sign of an attack. Jamie had her pistol hanging from her belt in a holster and also carried a rifle in her hands, although she'd had little time to practice with the weapon and was not at all confident she could hit a barn let alone a lion.   
As the sun rose and they walked into the area near where the groom was taken, they walked faster, almost jogging to clear that particular area, passing where the grave had been dug and onwards before relaxing their guard. Jackson appeared out of the savanna, Abe still scouting ahead having been joined by the son of the village elder. Jackson was able to reassure the leaders that the lions had truly left the locale and they no longer had to remain on alert for an attack.   
The rest of the trek to the base of the cliffs was done at a brisk pace and they arrived just after midday, much to the relief of everyone.   
The natives started to set up the tents for the base camp, while Reiden and his cronies went to inspect the head of the trail leading up to the top of the huge escarpment. The agent's man whose report had precipitated this adventure had used a different route up and back from the plateau, but the native guide insisted this was the safest and easiest to negotiate route to the top. Jamie had followed the group at a distance and stared up at the towering wall of rock, only just able to pick out the tortuous, zig-zag path that wound back and forth over the cliff face. It was narrow, slippery with loose rocks and gravel and higher up there would be strong upwinds that might try to pluck off anyone daft enough to be on the trail that high. Jamie shielded her eyes with her hand and leaned back to take it all in. The rock face looked fractured with tufts of dead looking plants sticking out at odd intervals. In the sky, birds wheeled with wings spread, making use of the thermals spiraling upwards as the rocks warmed up. There was nothing to see of what was on the top of the plateau from her perspective on the ground, so she wandered back to the camp to set up her and Mitch's belongings for the night. She smiled to herself remembering his tender lovemaking, her thoughts interrupted by noises of raised voices coming from the center of the campsite.   
All of the men were still relatively fresh after the short hike from the village. While they waited for the midday meal to be prepared, some of the white men decided to stage a wrestling match between one of the porters, a burly man with a jovial grin, and one of the white men, one of the agent's servants who was not exactly skinny himself. The men were all standing around, forming a loose circle with the combatants at the center. Jamie was called over to take part and see what was up, despite her not having any interest in men wrestling at all, but her alter ego, the stable boy, would naturally be keen to make a wager, so she joined the excited crowd to watch the two men trying to throw the other to the dust as quickly as possible. The agent's man had stripped down to his trousers, his skin very white against the rangy African, the two men like night and day in coloring, but evenly matched in height, weight, and skill. For several seconds they eyed each other then the native moved in and the fight was on. The air around the combatants was loud with calls of encouragement from both sides, the porters just as vocal as their white employers, the men in the center coated in sweat and dust as they shifted and struggled to get the upper hand. Jamie found herself caught up in the excitement of the sport, admiring the skill involved and lack of blood spilled. All too soon the agent's man was on his back on the dirt, expertly thrown and pinned by his opponent, the howls of the watching men rising from both the winners and losers supporters. The winner now strutted around the circle, grinning widely. Jamie decided she'd seen enough and wandered away, following her nose to where an awning and bench had been made to effectively become the camp kitchen. She was waved over and handed a bowl of chunky soup and a wedge of flat bread baked that morning at the village. Giving her thanks she found a conveniently folded chair open under a shady tree and sat down to consume her meal. Soon, others drifted towards the kitchen and got their meals, arriving before the mob and joining Jamie under the tree. Eventually, the entire area in front of the kitchen tent was full of men eating, drinking bush tea and talking about the wrestling match. At length, the party that had gone to investigate the trailhead returned and joined in the noisy lunch crowd. Jamie had finished and was just sitting under the tree listening to the men talk, sometimes adding a comment, but for the most part, just watching and listening. She saw Mitch return with the others, but turned her head away, feigning disinterest in his arrival or where he ended up taking his meal. Before long everyone had consumed their meal and the dishes were stacked ready for cleaning. To give herself something to do for the remainder of the afternoon she volunteered to help with the cleaning up, the dishes first cleaned with the plentiful dirt of the ground, before being wiped out with a cloth. As no one had left much behind of their portions of food, there wasn't a lot left to clean up. Soon the bowls and plates were scoured clean and stacked once more ready for the next meal. Lord Reiden had stood up on a box and informed everyone that the trek to the summit of the plateau would be done tomorrow as soon as it was light, so an early breakfast would be taken and those heading up to the top expected to be packed and ready before the sky lightened. A dozen porters and three of the former Reiden staff would remain at the base camp, along with the bigger canvas tents with their heavy poles and other supplies deemed unnecessary for the next stage. Everyone was expected to carry a load and only take the essentials up the narrow track. Jamie was already traveling light, but unloaded a couple of books from her suitcase, along with her shoes, opting to keep her spare boots instead along with only one change of clothes, reducing her bundle to half. That made room for more of Mitch's medical supplies, their packing that night paring down his personal belongings as well, both of them more concerned to have space for the contents of his medical bag shared between them than leave anything useful behind. After a restless night, they packed up their bedding and added that to their load before heading to where everyone who was going was mustered to eat breakfast before heading out. Torches flared in the pre-dawn morning, an air of excitement palpable.  
When the shout went up that they were to start out, the sky was the merest shade lighter and butterflies set up resident in Jamie's stomach in anticipation of the climb ahead. They headed for the trailhead at the base of the cliff, the village man at the head, the two guides behind him, Lord Reidon at the front of his party, followed by his agent, the photographer, Mitch then the remainder of the white men, Jamie included. Following behind them were the native porters, all in all, numbering over thirty souls making the ascent to the top. Everyone had their hands free to aid in the climb, guns slung over shoulders or secured to their packs to give them freedom of movement. It was anticipated that it would take all of the morning to get everyone up to the top, and part of the afternoon before everyone to the last porter was standing safely on the flat summit. But right now they were negotiating the boulder field at the base of the slope, a barely visible track leading them to a path cut into the angled cliff, just wide enough for one surefooted person to negotiate with ease as long as they had a head for heights. Progress was slow, the path littered with rock falls that made the footing treacherous, the cool of the morning quickly burning away as the sun rose higher. The path, such as it was, started out as a gentle slope but soon, despite the constant switchbacks, was getting steeper and steeper. Jamie kept her head down and focused on her footing, one hand always connected to the jagged rock wall, the other holding on to the strap of her backpack, keeping her as far away from the edge as possible. All too often the entire caravan came to a halt while another rock fall was cleared or a gap in the path filled with rubble. During those halts they just had to stand there, waiting to move on, Jamie's legs shaking sometimes with the effort and nerves. The sun beat down on them unmercifully, the rock wall becoming almost too hot to touch. She would carefully reach for her water bottle while they waited and take a sip, not daring to take a gulp in case their time on the path was extended for any reason. Everything she had to do was done slowly and carefully, the margin between being secure and plunging into space off the edge seemed to grow narrower the higher they climbed. She daren't look up because the one time she did, the world started to revolve around her head and she almost fell backward, only the steadying hand of Haruni on her back brought her back to the present and her precarious position. After that, she didn't look up, or down. Sometimes she would look out at the view, but the sun was like a hammer and she had to turn her head away and contemplate the rocky face or the back of the man ahead.   
They were strung out like beads on a string, a gap of a few feet between each man, their progress slow – just one step at a time while the leaders negotiated the next section of the trail. Sometimes they dislodged rocks above the heads of those below, sending down a cascade of gravel and dust that only added to the uncomfortable state of those following along behind.   
A shout came from somewhere above her head and she heard the slither of rocks, a shower of smaller material peppering her hat. Another shout was the only warning as a hail of fist-sized rocks rained down on her section of the path, one hitting her hard on the head so that she crouched down, hard up against the wall, her hands covering her head. The rockfall seemed to go on for several minutes, everyone ahead and behind doing their best to protect themselves. Then the rocks got bigger, thumping down on the path before bouncing off to tumble down to the next ledge. Jamie shrank against the unforgiving rocks, clinging on, knowing that if a large rock hit her it could possibly knock her right off her perch. A scream from above warned her that someone had been hit, the unfortunate porter still screaming as his body fell past their section of the trail and continued down towards the ground where the scream was cut off abruptly. She froze in horror, digging her fingers into the jagged rock face, barely breathing as dust and debris continued to shower down on them. Even when the man in front got up and started to move, she remained crouched against the wall. The men behind her started to jabber, Haruni prodding her back to make her move. Squeezing her eyes shut for a second, she drew in a deep breath and slowly stood up, shuffling forward with both hands on the rock wall, a gap forming between her and the man in front. The image of the black body falling past her eyes was hard to dismiss and she proceeded ahead at a slower pace, making sure each foot forward was securely safe before lifting the other to take another step. Soon her battered confidence resurfaced and she managed to catch up to the end of the column, her heart still racing at the close call, her face set in lines of determination that she wouldn't end up with the same fate. One hour then another dragged by as they inched their way up the cliff face, no one wanting to stop for a meal or rest, not until they were standing safely on the summit, every man accounted for. The last third of the trail was little more than a series of ledges with varying widths that culminated in a cutting that had to be climbed to reach the plateau's edge. Fortunately, as had happened before, by the time Jamie reached the area needing to be climbed, the footfalls of the men ahead had left a clear trail and she could easily follow where they placed their boots, enabling her to climb the boulder-strewn cutting with relative ease and at a pace that brought her to the top in double quick time. A hand reached out to her and she took it, only realizing it was Mitch when she was standing on flat ground, finally at the top of the precipitous climb.   
“You okay?” he asked, leading her from the edge to where she could collapse onto the ground, her legs shaking.   
“Don't dare ask me to go back down that way. I'd rather jump.”  
Mitch chuckled. “You're not alone in thinking that!” he replied, patting her on the shoulder.   
He sat down beside her and watched as each man behind her was handed up onto the edge and on to the flat ground. Only when her body stopped shaking did she lift her head and look around. The area of the cliff edge was cleared back to the jungle for about fifty feet in both directions. Somehow nature knew not to grow too close to the crumbling edge, or maybe something or someone grazed that path to keep the plants from populating any further to the edge. Whatever the reason, the jungle loomed dark and foreboding behind them, nothing visible beyond the towering trees with their hanging vines and mysterious shadows. If she looked outwards, beyond the edge of the cliff, the view was spectacular. They were so high that the clouds looked close enough to touch, the few that drifted overhead at least. The ground was a long, long way down and in the distance, they could see the glimmer of a stretch of a river like a silver ribbon winding through the dark vegetation bordering it. Broad patches of pale yellow indicated the grasslands, while in the distance a larger expanse of a reflective surface hinted that a lake was nestled there somewhere in the jungle. The National Geographic man was taking photos of the view and of the people sitting, recovering after their monumental climb. Jamie was glad to finally be able to take a decent gulp of water from her canteen, using her pack as a backrest while she surveyed the rest of their expedition.   
Lord Reiden was already on his feet and had moved closer to the jungle wall, inspecting their options in regards a trailhead or simply hacking a path through. The young man from the village was going to stay with them, rather than attempt the climb back down on the same day. He was speaking to Abraham and waving his arms about and pointing to somewhere further along the cliff. Jamie supposed it was to indicate where they could start their trek into the interior of the plateau and find what the agent's man had described all those months before.   
“It's like we've entered another world,” Mitch murmured, his elbows resting on his bent knees as he stared out over the expansive view.   
“A lost world,” Jamie added.   
A shout drew their attention, Lord Reiden and the agent calling everyone to get on their feet. It was time to set out on the next leg of the expedition, a journey into the unknown for all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you know as much as I do. I finished this chapter today, so it will take a little while to craft the next. I will post as frequently as I can but make no promises it will be every day.


	8. Discovery

Chapter Eight – Discovery

Once everyone was loaded up and ready to go, the young man from the village, Kaseko led the way along the edge of the drop off to an area nearly a mile around from where they'd climbed up. The jungle, so dense before, here was thinner and more accessible. There were no paths or trails to follow, but they also didn't have to waste time hacking a path through the denser vegetation. Birdsong accompanied them into the forest, multitudes of feathered creatures flitting way above their heads, almost lost to sight, only the sound of their fluting voices indicating they were up several dozen feet in the canopy overhead. That same canopy shielded the men below from the sun, dappling the ground which was covered in what appeared to be a spreading plant that was soft underfoot and almost layered, although no one broke through the top to discover what was underneath. Everything seemed strange and otherworldly, everyone unusually quiet as they tramped between the towering trees. Ahead, it was obvious that the tree belt was ending and opening out, the light stronger and brighter the closer they got. Soon the trees were starting to thin and sunlight poured in, the groundcover disappearing to be replaced with a shorter version of the savannah grass on the plain below. They stood for a moment, the treeless scape before them giving them their first glimpse of the geography of the plateau. The grasslands that stretched out before them undulated for about a mile or so until they butted up against a number of tall, rocky outcrops that looked like the remains of enormous chimneys, reaching up to the sky and draped in pockets of vegetation. Beyond those were more shadowy hills, misty with the heat haze and distance. From where she stood, Jamie looked to left and right, the treeline they were leaving appearing to curve in a huge circle in either direction, a trick of the topography, she assumed. Squinting, she could see dark shapes moving in the far distance and she wondered what manner of animal lived in the rolling expanse and where they got their water. They hadn't crossed any water source within the forest and yet the trees were alive with birds, so there had to be a river or pond to supply the avians with the life-giving liquid for them to thrive in the numbers they'd seen and heard.   
The guides were waving the column forward and she stepped out of the shade into the bright sunlight, pulling the netting over her face in case the black flies were as numerous and a nuisance as they were down below. The violent updrafts of the cliffs had been replaced with a breeze that did little to cool down the landscape but did set the grasses to bend, the further into the open landscape they trekked. The distant dark shapes she'd seen were indeed animals because they could be seen moving away in a group, but they were still too far away to identify. The ground they walked over had been flattened over time so it was assumed that it supported a range of hoofed herbivores but so far they'd not seen any old bones or dung to help solve the riddle of what they were. Neither had they seen any sign of the local predators. There had to be some, as there was never a herd of grazers without a local predator to feed off them, but so far they were invisible too. Jackson would stop frequently to gaze at the ground, searching for evidence of what to expect up ahead, but each time he rose up and continued on, a ferocious frown of confusion marring his handsome face. The expedition was now spread out in a thin line, single file, marching in a reasonably straight line towards the hills in the distance. The knee-high grass was little hindrance and they were making good time, expecting to call a halt at some point but preferring to continue on and cover as much ground as possible.   
Jamie plodded along, following the man in front, wondering when they would stop for something to eat and drink. The ground beneath her feet suddenly lifted and settled, making her stumble. The men in front and behind were similarly affected and started to shout out, the ground doing it again, this time more forcefully so that Jamie had to drop to her knees to avoid falling on her face. Up ahead the guides and Lord Reiden were shouting, Jamie unable to make out the words. The natives behind her were jabbering ten to the dozen, fearful and panicking as the ground rose again as if something was forcing its way up from below their feet, through the earth itself. Looking up from her position crouched on the dirt, she could see what looked like dust rising from the ground some distance to the left but unlike dust, it lingered in the air like a mist.  
Mitch was running down the line of men and bearers, extolling them to run. On reaching where Jamie crouched, he grabbed her by the upper arm to lift her back onto her feet and started to run with her staggering unevenly beside him.  
“What is it? What's happening?” she managed to gasp as they stumbled and staggered against another upheaval.   
“I don't know, possibly some sort of earthquake or subsidence!” His grip on her arm didn't loosen, his long legs making her struggle to keep up. All around them the others in the column were doing the same, running for their lives as the ground continued to shimmy and buckle. The hills were no longer just distance blurs but now close enough to pick out details on the rising tors of naked rock while around and behind them the earth erupted with gouts of dirt flying up into the air. Jamie was having difficulty keeping her feet and fell, sprawling among the grass as the ground suddenly opened up behind her and an enormous bird, bigger than her, clawed its way out of the earth. One of the creature's wings beat down on the ground, the tip catching Mitch and sending him back onto the dirt. Jamie had managed to miss being flattened by the enormous wing but now lay curled up, her arms over her head while the mammoth sized bird burrowed out of the tunnel it had made and beat its wings to get airborne. The force of the downdraft was sufficient to roll her body towards the gaping hole left in the ground, her back coming up against the lip and jamming on the chunks of grass and sod littering the hole. Mitch had been gaping up at the creature, watching it gain altitude and fly off into the sky, then he noticed how close Jamie was to the hole and quickly raced forward, crouching down to grab hold of her before she could fall in. The giant bird they'd just seen erupt from the ground was only the first of many, the land all around them producing a number of the creatures, the native porters prostrate on the ground as if bowing in worship of the monstrosities, the birds ignoring them for the time being, more focused on escaping the hold of the earth than investigating the puny humans cowering on the surface. Only when no more of them came up from underneath did anyone start to move.   
“We have to reach the rocky outcrops and away from this plain!” Mitch shouted to anyone near enough to hear. He and Jamie found their feet and started to run, some of the other men doing the same. Jamie didn't look back, concentrating on keeping her feet as they dodged around the holes littering the ground, straining to keep her legs moving and reach the relative safety of the rocks. Before too long they were staggering onto an area littered with boulders and covered in gravel, grass no longer growing among such poor soil. While the largely white contingent of the expedition panted and gasped to regain their breath, their black porters still lay in supplication out on the savannah, not having moved when all else had run. There were a few of the natives among those now safe among the rocks, but most were still crouched among the grasses. Jamie looked up and saw that the flock of unbelievable birds had returned, wheeling around the area where they'd erupted from as if to dive back into the holes and return to wherever they came from. Instead, they started to dive towards the area where the majority of black porters crouched, huddled on the ground. Everyone on the rocks started to shout at them to run and get out of there, but the men seemed frozen. Suddenly one of the birds landed on the ground next to one of the porters and bent its head to literally pluck the man off the ground. He started to scream, a hideous sound that galvanized the others around him into getting up onto their feed, abandoning their many bundles and loads and start to run towards the rocks. The man held by the bird kept up his high pitched screaming as more birds landed nearby to investigate, several of them attempting to take the man from the first bird's beak with jabbing stabs at the flailing arms and legs.   
Jamie couldn't watch and buried her face in Mitch's side, still able to hear the screams but not watching as his body was fought over, his screams shutting off mercifully before the birds dismembered him. The remaining porters staggered onto the boulder field and collapsed, some of them sobbing in fear, others heaving from the run, sweat pouring off them. Most still carried their backpacks and rifles, but the larger bundles and supplies now sat out in the grass, the birds investigating them, pulling one or two apart in the hopes they contained food, it was supposed.   
When the giant birds tired of their sport they turned, almost as one, to stare at the figures still watching them from the edge of the rocky ground. One or two of the creatures started to hop towards them, using their wings to lift them off the ground for a short distance. Realising their imminent danger, everyone started moving further away from the grasslands and deeper into the boulder field, looking for somewhere to hide away from the predators now stalking them. It was every man for himself as they scattered, running towards the base of the rocky outcrops that towered over them, desperately looking for anywhere that the birds would be unable to reach with their sharp beaks or clawed feet. Jamie remained as close to Mitch as possible, trusting in him to find somewhere out of reach of the flying monsters, the ground threatening to trip them up all the time with cracked rocks and slippery scree to slow them down. At one point a loud boom made everyone stop and look up. Lord Reiden had set up his elephant gun and taken aim at the birds. He had been moderately successful, managing to hit one of the creatures in the chest so that it fell down and lay flapping and cawing in distress, its feet clawing at the wound. When its flockmates arrived they didn't hesitate and started to peck at their wounded comrade, treating at it the same as prey. Both whites and blacks stared at the horrible scene in shock before turning away, even more invested in finding a safe haven. Lord Reiden had brought them some time, but they had yet to find a bolt hole to hide them from the carnivorous cannibals.   
They were now at the base of the basalt tower, the size of the boulders substantially bigger than them now, but no better at hiding them from the birds which were now some distance behind and below them. The two guides were searching for a cave or rift that would hide them, circling the base of the stone spire for any crack or canyon that would shelter them all. At length the word came that they had found something and everyone moved towards that side of the jagged tower, finding the two men waving to get their attention and standing beside a dark, narrow maw on a side facing away from where the birds still fed on their former companion. Grateful to get out of the sun and away from the squabbling monstrosities, the former masters and servants bunched together and entered the cave. The small opening quickly widened, Cyrus Collins striking a light and firing a torch to provide some illumination. Lord Reiden set a match to his oil lantern, as did a couple of others, the lights making bits of metal or mineral in the rock appear to sparkle as they passed.  
They were moving slowly along a slanting, triangular shaped tunnel when the loud cawing of one of the birds was clearly heard at the entrance to the cave. Instantly the men around her panicked and Jamie found herself pushed to the side as men tried to force themselves further into the tunnel and away from the birds trying to reach inside and find their vanished prey. Mitch held her against his side as they were buffeted against the hard walls. When the last man was passed Mitch peered back along the tunnel, seeing the bird at the entrance, the opening too narrow for it to get very far inside. Satisfied that they were safe for the time being, Mitch and Jamie followed after the others walking deeper and deeper into the base of the rocky outcrop. 

The fissure like tunnel had finally opened into an area big enough for everyone to find a seat, the torch wedged upright to provide illumination. The flames light barely reached the walls and didn't come close to reaching the ceiling that disappeared into the darkness above their heads.   
“How far in are we?” the photographer asked, echoing many who wanted to know.  
“I figure about a hundred feet, give or take,” the agent replied, getting a nod of agreement from Jackson Oz.   
The men sat for the most part in silence, even breathing seemingly loud in the cloistered depths of the cave. Water was dripping somewhere in the darkness and a faint chittering could be heard if you listened hard.   
“Is that bats?” Jamie asked, whispering the question to Mitch who sat at her side. He looked at her and she pointed upwards. They both listened and could just make out the faint noise.  
“Probably.” He sniffed the air. “But not the main roost otherwise the air wouldn't be fit to breathe.”  
“Why not?”  
“Where there are bats in large quantities, so are there great big piles of their faeces or guano which produces a quantity of poisonous gas at ground level as well as encouraging insects to come and feed on the waste and the bodies of dead bats that fall into it.”  
“Ewww,” Jamie replied in disgust. “So the fact it doesn't smell bad means they're not above us?”   
Mitch sniffed. “Only a faint whiff, so we have nothing to worry about, but I wouldn't recommend going further into the cave.”  
“So no point in looking for another way out?” she asked. “Because I don't fancy our chances with those massive monsters out there.”  
Mitch turned his head and smiled at her. “If they are at all like ordinary birds they will need to return to their nests...or holes for the night and roost. We'll be able to make our escape then.”  
Jamie gave a shudder. “Have you ever seen birds like them in your life?”  
“I've seen pictures of the Andean Condor, which I believe is the largest flying raptor in the world. They live in the Andes mountains in South America and can weigh up to thirty-three pounds at their heaviest and have a wingspan of nearly eleven feet.”  
“Wow. But those birds weren't them?”  
“Nope. They were much bigger and looked like some sort of crossbreed.”  
“Crossbreed?”  
“As if someone took the biggest vulture and bred it with the Condor over many years, choosing the biggest birds out of each clutch to produce bigger and bigger raptors, resulting in what you saw today – a hybrid.”  
“With a taste for humans.”  
“Not particularly, but they would take any prey that was easy to catch and close to the size of a man like goats, antelope, pigs, that sort of thing.”  
“And humans.”  
“Yeah. And humans.”  
Lord Reiden had noticed them whispering and decided to find out what they were talking about.   
“Hey. Morgan. Care to share your veterinary insights with the rest of us?”  
Mitch grimaced at Jamie and turned to face his employer. “I was just explaining to the boy about the birds and how they became so big, or at least a possible way for them to grow to that size.”  
“Your theory?” Jackson asked, butting in.  
“That someone has been selectively breeding the biggest raptors or birds, possibly specimens from the local vulture population with the biggest flying bird known to man, the South American Condor, and over time creating what we just saw outside.”  
“Is that even possible?” Reiden asked. “I mean we use a similar technique to get the best racehorses, but still, they don't reach those sort of proportions.”  
“But you weren't trying to breed an enormous horse, just a faster one,” Jackson retorted. “So who would want to create such monsters?”  
Mitch shrugged. “I have no idea. Whoever they are, they've managed to keep the beasts somehow secluded on this one plateau away from human investigation and discovery for many years.”  
“What makes you say that?” Abe asked.  
“Well...have you ever seen or heard about giant birds that eat people?” Mitch asked.  
Jackson and Abe exchanged a look but shook their heads.   
“There you go. It's a wonder your man, Cyrus, was able to return to civilization without coming up against these creatures, let alone report about this place.”  
“He wouldn't have been up here alone,” Cyrus said. “He went up with porters and a couple of associates, but he was the only one to get down and travel back to Boma, the man half crazy for days until his wits returned.”  
Mitch had been looking thoughtful while the other talked. Jackson noticed and called him on it.   
“What is it?” the guide asked.   
“I was wondering if we didn't call those birds to us, in some way.”  
“What?” Reiden protested. “Your meaning, sir!”  
“Well, we might have set up a sort of vibration through the ground, following as we were one behind the other so that our footfalls were, I suppose, concentrated in a line and rhythm that they interpreted to mean that prey were passing overhead. Then all they had to do was wait for the vibrations to pass right over them and they rose up out of the ground, a bit like a lion pouncing.”  
Jackson was nodding. “You might have something there. Probably why the other animals we saw were avoiding this part of the savannah, they knew the birds were waiting for them...”  
“Like trapdoor spiders?” one man suggested.  
“Something like that,” Mitch fired back. “So if one person or animal was slowly crossing the ground they wouldn't be hardly noticeable, but a large herd or group of people would create enough vibrations to alert them.”  
“Could be how your man escaped notice,” Reiden said to his agent. Cyrus nodded.   
“But how are we going to escape here with those beasts waiting to eat us?” one of the servants asked.   
“As I was telling Jamie here, they, like all birds, will need to return to their roost when the sun sets. We'll be able to escape then.” Mitch told them.   
“Then I suggest we have something to eat and drink, get some rest and be prepared to set out at dusk,” Reiden ordered.  
“What about the supplies?” another asked.   
Mitch rubbed at his chin. “We could set up a bucket line, send one man at a time out to where the supplies are and ferry them over to the rocks, then each man walk back alone to avoid excessive vibrations through the ground.”  
“That would work?” one of the men asked. All the time, Abe was translating what was being said to the natives, who passed the word around so all knew what the white men were speaking about.   
“Who are these men you speak so freely about?” Abe asked on behalf of the porters.   
“Volunteers,” Mitch spoke up before Reiden could open his mouth and order the men, as he was likely to do. “I'll go out there myself and be the first man in the line, but I can't do it on my own.”  
Abraham translated and several of the porters spoke back to him.  
“Several of the men will accompany you, Daktari,” Abe told him. “As will I.”

The sun had sunk beneath the rim of the plateau when they approached the entrance to the break in the rock. All was silent outside, Mitch armed with a pistol in case one of the birds was still sitting in wait in anticipation of a meal. Instead, the area was clear of any of the birds or any creature large or small. The group going to head out and collect the supplies walked through the boulder field to the edge, all the time scanning the skies and all around for any sign the birds were laying in wait for their prey, but it all remained safe. Mitch had needed to almost forcibly restrain his wife from coming as part of the supplies rescue party, reminding her the part she was playing and not to ruin everything now. The bulk of the expedition would remain in the cave until the others returned, Jamie acting as the lookout, boosted up onto the top of a large boulder so she would see what was taking place out on the savannah and relay that to the people at the mouth of the cave.   
Gordon Black had handed her a pair of binoculars to make her job easier and Jamie watched as the cluster of men stood where the dirt met the rocky ground, then she saw Mitch started to walk out onto the grassy plain. He walked carefully but determinedly and she admired his courage to put himself out there where danger was only a breath away under his feet. Once he was well on his way to where the supplies lay scattered about, the next man headed out, then shortly after him the next and so on. Eventually, there was a bucket line of men from the circle of dropped bundles to the rocks, Mitch picking up the first box and handing it to the next man, and so on down the line until a stack of bundles, boxes and packs were starting to accumulate among the boulders. Only one of the larger bundles had been completely torn apart by the birds and the contents scattered. Most items were beyond repair, but Mitch quietly went over the area and picked up what he could. Eventually, it was done and the men, starting with the one closest to the rocks walked off the dirt and onto safety. When one was safe, the next man walked the short distance and so on until Mitch was the last man standing, isolated and alone out on the grasslands. The night was drawing in and making it difficult for Jamie to see him but she strained her eyes and watched as he made his slow progress back to the others, all of them gathering around to thump him on the back or shoulder or shake his hand once the operation was completed. Then it was a simple matter to carry what had been collected of their scattered supplies and convey them to the group at the cave. 

That evening and night they camped out in the cave, spending their time redistributing the contents of the wrecked load so that everyone carried an extra piece. The sound of dripping water had revealed a small pool at the side of the main cave, big enough for the water containers to be filled ready for the next day. Eventually, Lord Reiden called it a night and they settled on whatever flat ground they could find both in the cave and along the narrow corridor, but still well back from the entrance. Two men took the first watch, relieved every two hours by another pair until predawn lightened the horizon. After an uncomfortable and restless night, and a brief consultation over a quick, cold breakfast, the expedition set out again, passing through the rocky towers that dominated that part of the plateau. Large areas of the ground they had to negotiate was covered in evidence of numerous rock falls making the footing difficult to walk over. Jackson and Abe tried to find a path through the rocks and fractured stone, their progress that morning only putting them a mile or so beyond the savannah and the killer birds. Whenever their forward momentum slowed because of some obstacle or other, several men were put on sky watch, to alert everyone if the birds returned but so far their luck had held and the birds hadn't been spotted.   
By mid-afternoon they were finally through the rock field and were once more entering a forested area, the trees heavily hung with vines and moss. They were also following a clearly defined track.  
Before entering the forest, Jackson and Abe had thoroughly inspected the one person wide track trying to find traces of what or who had traveled it so extensively and frequently to keep the bare earth cleared. After a long deliberation, they both admitted defeat being unable to make out any distinct footprints, paw marks or hoof imprints on the hard dried earth, but both agreed that something obviously used the path on a regular, if not daily basis. When the information trickled back to her place in the column, Jamie wasn't sure whether to be reassured or alarmed. Things were already weird enough without adding some unknown persons or land animal to the mix.   
They entered further into the forest accompanied by the hoots and calls of monkeys swinging high up in the branches, the long-limbed, long-tailed primates alerting anyone or anything in the vicinity that strangers were traversing the forest. One of the natives, unnerved by the constant noise from overhead, raised his rifle and shot at the creatures, managing to actually hit one of them making the others burst into hysterical screams as the body fell to earth. When it hit the ground, the noise from above abruptly stopped which further unnerved the people below, all of them now looking up at the branches, wondering what was to happen next. The answer wasn't long in coming. In retaliation for their fallen comrade the monkeys started to pelt the column of men below with fruit, not all of it ripe or soft, but often unripe and rock hard. Those with pith-helmets donned them instantly, while those without did their best to protect their heads while running to the base of trees to avoid the torrent of fruit hail raining down on them. Unseen, and unnoticed, one of the natives suddenly found a feathery dart stuck in his thigh, the venom on the tip very quick acting so the man fell silently, his body quickly dragged into the ferns and underbrush, his companions never seeing him go, only the bundle he was carrying left behind. Three more of the native porters fell and disappeared before someone noticed and a cry went up, the men turning back to back, their guns pointing out into the forest, looking for their invisible foe that snatched men without the victim uttering a cry of warning or alarm. Between the monkeys and their bombardment of fruit and the invisible assailants, the leaders decided it was time to retreat, bunching up and shooting into the trees at their still unseen enemy, the monkeys finally scattering and no more darts flying out from whoever sent them was hiding. The shrinking party of men kept firing until Lord Reiden called a ceasefire, the forest suddenly silent after the barrage of gunfire, the smell of cordite heavy in the air. They all stood there, waiting for the next attack but it never came. Several of the packs and bundles sported the feathered tuft of darts and Mitch went down the line to pull some of them and carefully access what might be on the tip. To Jamie's alarm, he even tasted one of the darts, the resulting numbness of his lip making him conclude that the poison wasn't designed to kill but to paralyze its victim, leading to more speculation as to what would happen to the men taken and dragged away. The porters were now seriously spooked, talking about evil spirits and demons, the white men no less so as they stared out at the seemingly innocent trees and their hidden pitfalls. As the leaders discussed what to do next, one thing that was decided was that no one was keen to go and collect the discarded bundles. They would rather go without than risk the same fate as their fellows. This time there were no volunteers.   
At length, they pushed on, guns at the ready, everyone looking in all directions for the next attack. It never came and they emerged from the band of forest with no more loss of men or supplies. From the relative safety of the forest edge, they stared out over the landscape, many with their mouths open in surprise at what lay before them. The trail they'd been following led straight into a ruined city laid out over the rolling land before them. Having never seen a ruin before, Jamie could make no comparison or hazard a guess at what civilization might have made it, but Mitch and Lord Reiden were more widely read and recognized the style of architecture, although it seemed out of place in the situation they found it in.   
“The Roman Empire never made it this far south! This is preposterous!” Lord Reiden blustered, staring at the remains of what was obviously a romanesque row of columns, only the bottom fifth visible but still unmistakable.   
“As far as we know,” Mitch interjected. “Rome expanded at its height to include Britain at its furthest northern point, most of Europe including Germany, Spain, France and all points south to the Mediterranean, plus the northern coast of Africa across to Judea and down into Egypt.”   
While they discussed the conundrum, the men moved forward, leading their expedition into the ruined city, looking at and touching the stone pillars as they passed. Lord Reiden was still arguing.   
“It is just impossible. Even supposing that they circumnavigated the African continent in or around five hundred BC or before, they would only have made stops on the coast, never come this far inland, or had the resources to build a city on this scale.”  
“I don't disagree, but they also never came so far south through Egypt, as far as current thinking and historians can tell. And yet, this is here!” Mitch waved his hand to encompass the ruins. Jamie was listening in. If the smartest of them couldn't find an explanation for the ruins, she wasn't going to waste time worrying about it herself. What remained of the city was obviously very old and the level of destruction suggested the city had been sacked and leveled, the amount of demolition hinting that it had been deliberately destroyed by something or someone.   
The ruins themselves were slowly being taken over by the encroaching jungle that bordered its northern side, the plants, like a silent tide engulfing the remaining structures and burying them so they resembled hillocks and humps in the landscape. Only some of the higher points remained, poking through the lush greenery, indicating where buildings were buried, a lone fluted column standing proud or a solid wall defying the jungle to bury it. The road they followed was cracked and the paving stones lifted and scattered, but here and there were intact examples of the original surface showing the marvel of road builders art when it was first laid. Jamie wandered into one of the buildings, the walls nearly at ground level, but the design of the rooms still visible if you used your imagination. She crouched down and brushed away the dirt and dead vegetation covering the floor and was surprised to see a pattern and color underneath the dust. She used a collection of twigs and grass stems to make a broom and brushed more of the debris away, revealing a mosaic floor, chipped and cracked, but still showing the original design. She saw Mitch wasn't far away and called to him.  
“Doc? Come and look at this!” she stood up and pointed to the floor when he arrived.   
“Incredible, the tesserae look almost as good as new.”  
“If you ignore the chips and cracks,” Jamie snorted. “It is pretty.”  
Mitch used her impromptu broom and cleared more of the pattern, looking closely at the animals and beasts portrayed in the design. “Amazing.”  
Jamie peered over his shoulder. “Are those...?” she pointed at one creature.  
“Sure looks like it.” Mitch stood up. “Lord Reiden, you might like to see this,” he shouted, gesturing for the man to see the mosaic. Soon the smallish room was crowded with men and Jamie discreetly backed out, leaving them to discuss the floor design and its implications. One of the agent's men grabbed her arm and pulled her over.  
“What are they looking at?” he asked. Jamie shrugged.  
“Looks like a picture of them birds, if'n you ask me,” she explained, pulling out of his grip and walking away. In fact, that was exactly what she'd seen when Mitch expanded the cleared floor area, the image too detailed to be anything else, even down to the evil dark eye and curved beak. But if the birds had been around since so long ago, what had stopped them leaving the plateau? Why did no one know anything about them until now?  
She found a section of broken pillar which made a wide chair for her to sit on while she pulled out her canteen and took a mouthful of water. The huddle of men had pulled back to allow the photographer to take an image of the floor. There had been other animals depicted in the tiny tiles and she shuddered to imagine those creatures still roaming somewhere in the lands around them. Maybe even now eyes were watching, waiting to pounce when they least expected it. She looked around but the ruins were just as quiet and uninhabited as they'd always been. She noticed that a handful of the porters were sitting in a tight group and obviously talking between themselves. One looked up and returned her stare until she looked away.   
“Dey are plotting to leave,” a deep voice informed her, Jamie turning her head to find Haruni standing behind her, his dark face pulled into stern lines. “They t'ink that da demons will get them if they stay here.”   
“Where do they think they can go?” Jamie asked, forgetting to use her cant expressions.  
“Dey are ignorant fellows and just think dat the white man is cursed, so anywhere away from dem is a good place to be.” Haruni grinned, his teeth very white in his dark face. “Dey be wrong.”  
“You think we're better off if we stick together?”   
Haruni nodded. He went to speak again but a loud noise interrupted him and they both turned to see if they could pinpoint the source of the bellowing roar. Everyone else was looking in the same direction, towards the distant edge of the jungle where it spread out among the ruins. They could see a distant figure in white, one of the agent's men who had wandered closer to the jungle than anyone else. He was holding his gun and now pointed it at the creature that appeared from the jungle. They heard the pop of the gun, almost drowned out by the bellow of the creature when the bullet hit it. Both man and beast froze for a second then the beast moved, lowering its head to charge. The agent's man fled but was too slow and the horn at the front skewed him neatly then tossed him high, bright blood fountaining out as the body performed an arc into the air then fell on the ground only to be trampled into mush by the hooves of the beast that had killed him.   
Everybody, black or white, who stood among the ruins froze in horror, like a silent tableau among the broken walls and crumbling columns. Then they moved, running helter-skelter in the opposite direction to where the beast stood. Only Lord Reiden stood his ground, taking the huge elephant gun and resting it on one of the broken house walls, lining it up to take a potshot at the beast.   
Jamie and Haruni crouched behind another wall, watching as half of the men fled and the other half, including Mitch, stayed put to see what the monstrous animal did next.   
It did what any enraged beast in pain and finding its territory infested with vermin did, it gave chase, surprisingly nimble for such a large size, bellowing as it charged down the fleeing men. Having been shot by a man in a whitish outfit, it seemed to favor chasing them at the start, catching up with one of the men, knocking him down and goring the poor man to death before tossing its head and looking for another target. Unlike its closely related cousin, the rhinoceros, this mutant apparently had excellent long-distance eyesight, not fooled when one of the men tried to trick it by standing still beside a broken wall, hoping to blend in with the rubble. He didn't and paid for his folly with a horn in his guts, the body tossed over the beasts back, landing like a ragdoll on the creatures rump and falling to the ground, only to be stomped into oblivion.   
Lord Reiden took advantage of the beast being still while it inspected its latest kill and fired his gun, the blast hitting the large beast on its side, leaving behind a sizeable hole that bled copiously through the hair covering the thick hide. Still, the creature didn't go down, only turned its head towards where Lord Reiden and his party of men stood in the ruined mosaic room. Before the beast could move they all scattered among the ruins, hiding from the creature's sight. The earlier bunch of porters were still running, jumping and leaping over piles of rubble in their haste until one miscalculated and fell, screaming as his leg broke with an audible crack heard by everyone, including the beast. Its massive head turned to seek out what was screaming, the beast ignoring the gaping wound in its side and walking towards the injured man who had mercifully fainted from the pain of his broken leg. Despite there being no sound or movement from the body at its feet, the beast lifted a front leg and brought it down on the man's head, crushing it like an egg.   
Only now did it seem to notice it was injured, turning to inspect the hole in its side and turning away to return to where it came from, still giving out a bellow as it moved, but no longer interested in the creatures invading its territory. When it reached the wall of greenery it simply pushed through and disappeared from sight, leaving behind a trail of blood that in any other animal would have killed it instantly.   
Jamie remained crouched behind the wall, her shoulders shaking, Haruni's hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Lord Reiden and the others around him slowly appeared from their hiding places, Mitch calling Jamie's name, not having seen where she was before the creature appeared. On her appearance from behind the wall, he leaped over the rumble between them and gathered her into his arms, somewhat to the surprise of those that weren't already aware of her gender.  
“I know they are friends, but that's a little unnecessary,” Cyrus Collins observed, glancing at the pair.   
Lord Reiden laughed out loud and Gordon Black smiled broadly. “Try not to be too shocked, Cyrus, but the stable boy is actually a stable girl.”  
“What? A female?”  
“I believe that is the usual meaning of the word girl,” the photographer retorted.  
“You knew about this, m'lord?” Cyrus asked of his boss.  
“I suspected, but this just confirms my suspicions,” Reiden replied, busy reloading his gun.   
“What the hell is she doing here?” Cyrus pushed. “Why did you allow her to continue?”  
Gordon shrugged. “Why not? She's stood up to the same privations as we have, she didn't get ill, didn't complain, the men like her, albeit as a boy not a girl, and she obviously was keen to come along.”  
“But it's not...seemly. This is no place for a woman, let alone a slip of a girl!” Cyrus hissed, pointing violently at the couple still holding tightly to each other.  
The photographer shrugged. “What does it matter? We are all in the same predicament now.” He turned away to repack his camera, the subject closed as far as he was concerned. 

“I think I've just blown your cover,” Mitch muttered, not letting her go. Jamie rubbed her face against his jacket, not releasing him either.   
“I don't care. I was terrified the beast would find you.”  
“I was scared for you, too.” He pressed a kiss on her head, her hat hanging down her back.  
“Do you know what dat animal was, Daktari?” Haruni asked, totally unfazed by Mitch embracing the girl formerly regarded as a boy.   
“Some sort of rhinoceros hybrid, I'm guessing. An image of it was amongst the animals depicted in the mosaic,” Mitch told him, slowly loosening his grip on Jamie.  
“Doctor Morgan, if you care to join us?” Lord Reiden's voice called to him and Mitch pulled back  
to look down into Jamie's face.  
“You ready to face them?” he asked. He saw her swallow hard, but she nodded and they turned, hands joined, to walk across the ruins and join what remained of the expedition now standing in the broad roadway, some of the men, those that had been fooled into thinking her a boy, staring at their joined hands. Lord Reiden stepped forward.   
“Care to explain yourself?” he asked, but his tone was not belligerent or angry, only curious.   
Mitch glanced at Jamie. “I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Jessamine Morgan formerly known at Jamie Campbell, m'lord.” He pulled her forward and Jamie, on reflex, gave a small bob similar to what she'd seen one of the maids do after being spoken to by Lord Reiden. Cyrus, Reiden's agent, pushed himself forward.   
“What do you mean bringing your wife on this expedition, Morgan? It's highly improper and unseemly to have a woman be part of an all-male trek!” The man was almost spitting and Jamie moved back to stand slightly behind her husband.   
“What possible benefit is there in railing at the situation. Jamie is here now, she has been through the same as all of you and earned her place on this trek.”  
Cyrus got up in his face, his own twisted with anger. “Are you so weak you could not order your wife to stay back at the mission? What sort of man are you!”  
“Jamie and I were married by Father Pierre at the mission. Technically, this is our honeymoon.”  
A ripple of chuckles and comments met that remark and Jamie blushed to her hairline. Mitch continued. “She had already proved her mettle in coming so far, and I was loathed to part with her now, so we agreed she should continue. We are all in the same danger from this place, so arguing about what difference a woman may or may not make, or my lack of courage in my marriage is completely redundant, and none of your goddam business.”   
Jamie gave a little cheer, drawing the agents attention, Cyrus scowling at her ferociously. “Who's to say that our bad luck and loss of men on this trip isn't all because a woman is an ill-omen in any situation!”  
“Balderdash, Cyrus. This is the nineteenth century, women sail around the world, they accompany their husbands in all areas of discovery, we aren't in the dark ages now...we don't burn witches just because someone says they are. This young lady being amongst us might be unusual, but she's here now and will be staying regardless of your opinion about women unlucky or otherwise.” Gordon's spirited defense of Jamie took many of the men aback, reversing their support of the agent and giving it to the couple standing resolutely before them.   
“She'll be the death of us all!” Cyrus shouted in a last bid to sway them.   
“Hanging about in these ruins will be the death of us all if any more of those beasts return to see what the shouting is all about,” Lord Reiden interjected. And as simply as that the arguments were over. Everyone gathered up their gear and prepared to move out, Jackson and Abe leading what remained of the explorers through the ruins and out of sight of the jungle. Jamie moved into position behind Mitch, while Haruni, appointing himself her unofficial guardian, walked behind her.   
They stopped walking when they reached the edge of the ruined city, the sun starting its descent towards the edge of the plateau while clouds could be seen gathering in the east, the distant flash of lightening indicating a storm approaching in the next few hours. Ahead lay another arboreal forest, this one supposedly the site of the hidden gem mine indicated on the map they had. They had lost four of their number to the rhino-hybrid and another four porters had run off and not returned. That left only sixteen men, plus one woman, to carry on. Those standing on the edge of the ruins were Lord Reiden, Doctor Morgan, his wife Jamie, Gordon Black, the guides, Jackson Oz and Abraham Kenyatta, the agent Cyrus Collins and his man, Killian Gates, plus two of Reiden's remaining staff, Joe Cotton and Simeon Toke, numbering ten white men, the native making up the remaining six, including Haruni and the boy from the missionary village, Kaseko.   
“Your man indicated that the mine was clearly signposted. I wonder with what?” Reiden asked his agent. Cyrus shrugged, having no better idea than his employer.   
They moved forward, guns at the ready, alert to anything that might present itself as a threat. The buzz of insects and fluting calls of birds was loud overhead, flying insects buzzing the men as they followed the guides and Lord Reiden's map into the shade of the trees. They hadn't walked long when Reiden called a halt, the two guides pointing ahead.  
“What do they see?” Jamie asked, leaning past Mitch to get a better look.   
“Looks like they found a signpost,” he answered, his voice flat.   
Those in the rear pressed forward to see better, eventually following where the guide, Jackson was pointing and seeing what he saw. In between the tree trunks, half overgrown with a creeper plant, sat a stone statue as tall as a three storey house, the head the only bit still visible. The face was clearly carved using native African features, an elaborate headpiece perched above the eyebrows like a crown of sorts.   
Reiden directed two of the porters to go and clear off the greenery as they all drew closer to inspect the statue that towered over them. As more of the torso and arms appeared, it was clear the statue held a weapon in one hand while the other was empty, the hand held palm out as if to say 'stop'. The torso was without clothing and had strange carvings all over it, like tattoos, images and marks similar to Egyptian hieroglyphs.   
“Any chance you can decipher what it says, Morgan?” Reiden asked. Mitch shook his head.   
“I may claim to know many things, m'lord, but hieroglyphs and pictograms are not one of them.”  
“Shame. Anyone else?” His lordship scanned his small resource of men but all shook their heads.   
“It's a warning!” a female voice rang out, but when everyone looked at Jamie she looked as confused as anyone.  
“It wasn't me,” she protested.   
“It was not the woman who spoke it was myself.” Out from amongst the trees a slender blond woman appeared, clad as they were in white linen, wearing a divided skirt instead of trousers, but the cloth clean and pristine where Lord Reiden's party looked much the worse for wear.   
“Who the bloody hell are you?” Cyrus called out. The woman eyed him speculatively then turned to Lord Reiden when they were six feet apart.   
“You realize you are trespassing on French-owned territory?”  
Lord Reiden goggled at the Frenchwoman, her accent, and appearance so unexpected.  
“My information says otherwise, young lady.”  
She made a rude noise. “You men, you don't listen. I am here with the full authority of the Governor General of French West Africa to annex this plateau and all the wealth and commodities it might contain, including the ground we currently stand on. You, sir, are trespassing on sovereign French ground.”  
“Um....who are you?” Jamie asked, intrigued to see another white woman, even a French one, after so long.  
“My name if Chloe Rochelle Tousignant, and you are?”  
“Oh, Jamie Morgan, this is my husband, Doctor Morgan.”  
“A docteur? I have need of such a man. We have sick men needing your attention, monsieur.”  
“What is wrong with them...?” Mitch started to ask only to be cut off by Reiden.  
“One minute, young lady. You appear from nowhere, tell us we're trespassing and now want to hive off with our doctor? Where he goes, we go too.”  
The Frenchwoman let out a huff and visibly rolled her eyes. “As you wish. But you will need to surrender your weapons if you are to proceed from here.”  
“I say, that's not on...” Reiden had barely started to voice his outrage when the forest around them came alive, camouflaged natives rising from the ground and surrounding the travelers with weapons of spears, blowpipes and bows pointed directly at them, vastly outnumbering the expedition.   
“Your weapons, gentlemen?” the Frenchwoman announced, a smile playing about her lips.


	9. Captured

Chapter Nine – Captured.

Jamie walked between Mitch and Haruni, the group herded through the forest like goats. The Frenchwoman walked ahead of her native army, striding along through the trees like it was her own private park. Everything the expedition had owned, bar the clothes on their backs had been stripped from them after the weapons had been collected. It effectively prevented them from even thinking of trying to escape. With no weapons and no supplies, they would be completely vulnerable against any new horrors that the plateau had not already tested them with. So they walked, flanked by the hostile tribesmen, through the forest and pondered what was to come. 

Agent Tousignant watched as the members of the expedition were marched into the encampment.  
“Madam? Where are you expecting us to house these treasure hunters? Eh?”  
“I expect you to do your job, Capitaine. These are explorers, not looters. We treat them the same as any other foreign nationals. They are our guests with certain conditions. They also have a docteur amongst their number.”  
“A docteur? That is good news indeed.”  
Chloe smiled grimly. “We can only hope he is able to help our soldat malade.” The captain gave her a salute and started to leave. “Oh, and he has his wife with him. She can be his aide infirmière.”

The Captain approached the wary newcomers. “I am told you have a doctor among you?”  
Mitch stepped forward. “I'm a doctor of men and animals.”  
The officer looked him up and down then gestured. “You are to come with me, we have sick men who need attention.” He turned to lead the way then turned back. “And bring your wife, she will be your nurse.”  
Mitch turned to glance at Jamie who shrugged and started to walk after the officer. Their luggage and belongings were sitting in a heap near a tent and Mitch went to get his bag, only to be warned off by several of the natives. The officer turned to see what the problem was. Mitch pointed to his backpack, as well as Jamie's.  
“If you want me to be a doctor, I need my medicines and equipment.”  
The man grunted and waved the natives back. “Take what you need, but no weapons.”  
Mitch reached for Jamie's pack and handed it to her, then picked up his own, as well as another bundle. “We have what we need now.”  
The officer grunted and continued to lead them further into the French camp, the tents set out in neat rows. Mitch estimated that there were probably about thirty tents in all which, allowing for two men a tent meant they were in the company of roughly sixty soldiers, not including the senior officers and Chloe Tousignant. The captain brought them to a much larger tent and they entered, Jamie quickly clapping a hand over her nose to dilute the stench. Mitch instantly recognized the smell of gangrene. A dozen cots held the makeshift hospital's patients and he approached the first bed, fully prepared for what he'd find. The man was only in his thirties but his skin was papery and pale like someone twice his age and he was sweating heavily. Mitch pulled back the sheet to inspect his wounds and had to take a moment to get his gag reflex under control before proceeding.  
“What happened to this man?” he asked, inspecting the wound pattern for clues.  
“He was attacked, same as the others, by a creature...a wolf, we think. They were on a scouting patrol. Only these men returned. Each of them suffered a bite or injury, all of which have festered to the degree you see before you.”  
Jamie was having difficulty, her hand clapped over her mouth to prevent her gorge rising. She looked at the men still waiting to be attended and wondered if any of them would survive. Mitch was inspecting the first patient, gauging how far advanced the infection had spread, how much necrotic tissue was poisoning the patient or maybe something else at work.   
Mitch replaced the sheet over the sick man and moved on to the next bed. This man had been bitten on the leg, the limb now a sickly greenish black. Mitch winced and replaced the sheet.   
He got to his feet and turned to the Captain who was still there.   
“His leg should have been taken off immediately. How long have they been like this?”  
“Six days,” the officer replied. “And we have no surgeon to perform what needed to be done.”  
“Who is caring for these men?” Mitch asked.   
“There is a woman...” the officer started to explain but stopped suddenly.  
“I will need to speak to her, find out what she's been doing before I can start a new treatment,” Mitch told him.   
“I will bring her to speak to you, but I can't guarantee she will agree to help you.”  
Mitch ignored his offhand comment and moved to inspect the next patient. 

By the time Mitch saw the last patient, Jamie had her reactions under control. She felt enormous pity for the suffering soldiers and couldn't wait to hear what Mitch intended to do for them. Most had bite wounds that had festered in the short time since they'd been inflicted, on arms and legs, hands and feet. Only one man had a bite on his torso, that injury the most life-threatening out of all of them.   
Mitch was quiet as he washed up, his expression grim. After drying his hands he left the tent, Jamie in tow and started to sort through his belongings.  
“What can I do to help?” Jamie asked.  
“I'm going to need a couple of things. Firstly, I need you to take a bottle with a lid and go to wherever they have their kitchen. I need some strips of meat, the less fresh the better.”  
“Why?”  
“So it will attract flies to lay eggs. I need maggots.”  
Jamie stared at him. “Maggots?”  
“It's been proven that maggots can clean a festering wound quickly and cleanly, getting rid of all the dead tissue and helping the healing process. It's also a procedure used in veterinary practice for the same reason, cleaning open wounds of necrotic tissue.”  
“Maggots?” Jamie repeated faintly. “Okay. I'll go right now.”  
Jamie left and Mitch continued to sort through his medicants, cataloging those he could use, along with his surgical tools. When Jamie returned with a green-glass jar already containing a number of blue and green bottle flies busy inspecting the putrid meat inside, he sent her off to get as much boiling water as she could carry to sterilize his implements.  
While Jamie was away getting that organized, Mitch got to meet the woman who had been caring for the soldiers.   
“Docteur Morgan, this is the nurse.” The Captain drew forward a woman, the chink of chains securing her wrists and feet incongruous given the situation. Mitch stood up and faced the woman. If he had to guess he would have said she was probably of Spanish or Italian origin, with her dark eyes and wavy black hair, certainly not a native of Africa anymore than he was.   
“You have been caring for these men?” he asked. The woman lifted her chin.  
“Si, Senor. They are still alive, are they not?”  
“I applaud your high level of hygiene, given the extraordinary circumstances. This is not the first time you have worked in a hospital situation?”  
“Non. I have been a nurse in my own country, Colombia but I was educated in America.”  
Mitch turned to stare at the Captain. “Release her. If I am to save even one of those men, I will need her help.”  
“She assaulted my Lieutenant...”  
His captive turned and spat at him. “Your Lieutenant tried to rape me! The violador should be shot!” “Take these irons off or your men are as good as dead.” Mitch stared the man down until he produced a key and undid the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, the woman rubbing her wrists and muttering a number of Spanish invectives about the French under her breath.  
“Do you have a change of clothes?” Mitch asked, taking in her grubby dress. The woman nodded.   
“I have a bundle in a safe place in the hospital tent. I can be ready in a short time.”  
“Good. We have at least two amputations to perform. One below the knee, the other above.”  
“I have never performed surgery myself...”  
“I just need a competent nurse to administer the anesthetic and assist me.”  
“I can do that.”  
Mitch smiled at her. “What is your name?”  
“ Dariela Marzan, Doctor.”  
“Alright, Nurse Marzan. This is my wife, Jamie. She will also be assisting.”   
Dariela turned to regard the woman approaching carrying a large metal pan with steam rising from the surface of the water it contained. The two women nodded to each other.   
“Bring that inside the tent, please,” Mitch directed her, Jamie carrying the heavy pan into the hospital tent and placing it on the floor. Mitch immediately tipped his surgical knives and implements into the water. “We will need as much boiled water as you can produce.”  
“I can manage that,” Jamie replied. “Another pan is on the boil already.”  
“Good girl.” He turned away to address Dariela. “Now, nurse, we need to set up an operating table. We will have to work fast, my resources for use as an anesthetic are limited so each man can't be under for very long.” He walked off, still talking, Dariela listening intently. 

Jackson and Abe appeared in the doorway of the hospital, offering themselves to help lift the men and as stretcher bearers. Mitch was glad of their help, having only the two women to help him with everything else. He had set up an area screened from the camp and outside the tent ward. He introduced Nurse Marzan to the men and she organized for them to wash their hands and wear aprons made of canvas to cover their clothes. Jamie was still fetching and carrying boiling water to and from the tent, as well as tearing up sheets into bandages that then got boiled before being dried and rolled ready for use later. Dariela had the task of preparing the patient for surgery, washing him and administering the drugs to dull the man's senses to the point of unconsciousness. When that was done Jackson and Abe carried him to the outside surgery where Mitch took over. Abe volunteered to hold the patient while Mitch cut. It was a grisly business but with the combined efforts of all of them, the men that needed limbs to be removed were treated accordingly, then sewn up, the wound washed again with boiled water before being bandaged up and the man put back into a freshly made bed.  
Soon the smell of rot and decay that had pervaded the tent was gone, replaced with the smell of burnt herbs and carbolic soap. The flies and their maggots had been employed for those wounds not needing amputation, the maggots cleaning and removing the necrotic tissue, the men sleeping in a drug-induced haze while the insects completed their task. The final patient, the one with the hole in his side was the last to be seen. The surgical table was washed and cleaned, as it had been after every patient, and now the man was carried there for Mitch to see if there was anything he could do.

Jamie carried the bundle of soiled bedlinen to the wagon where a huge washing kettle was set up, a fire underneath it, the water inside steaming but not quite boiling. Her arms ached, but she ignored the discomfort and dumped the load of sheets and pillowcases into the water, using a large paddle to stir them around. The man responsible for the camp laundry gave her a scoop of powdered soap and she dumped that into the kettle as well, stirring the foamy water like soup. There was already one line of laundry pegged to a rope, drying in the afternoon sun and soon there would be a second. It was as well the French army was so well supplied on this expedition into the interior, as well as having men who were specifically assigned particular tasks like laundry and cooking. Madame Tousignant had drifted over earlier to see how things were going, but been driven back by the smell of the wounded men and later by the sight of the severed limbs littering the ground and waiting for disposal.   
“Another pan of water is ready, Madame,” the cook called out to her. Jamie waved to let him know she'd heard and got to her feet. “Can I leave this for you to finish, Ruben?”  
“I will get some of these lazy men to help me peg this load on the line.”  
“Make sure they wash their hands first. I don't want this clean linen soiled by grubby hands, understand?” Jamie wagged her finger at him and he laughed.   
“As you command, Madame.”  
Jamie left and walked over to the kitchen area to collect the refilled pan of boiling water. Taking a firm grip on the metal handle encased in cloth to avoid burning herself, she carried it towards the hospital tent the same as she'd done a dozen times already that day. Mitch met her at the entrance and took the heavy pan from her.  
“That should be the last we need today. How are you holding up?”  
“I should be asking you that,” Jamie replied, smiling tiredly. “How are the men?”  
“Still alive. Most will make it, I think. If we can keep them free of infection and let the wounds heal, I think they will all pull through.”  
“All of them?” she queried.  
“I have hope,” Mitch replied, nodding as if to convince himself it was a possibility.   
“Cook is preparing a meal for you all and he has a pot of coffee on standby.”  
“Wonderful woman, I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you.” He bent and kissed her, Jamie leaning against him briefly before pulling away.   
“I'll bring you a tray in a little while.”  
Mitch watched as his new wife walked away, no sign of tiredness in her step and her head held high.  
“She has courage,” Nurse Marzan observed, coming up behind him. “Not many women would do as she's done today.”  
“I could say the same of you, Dariela.”  
She waved her hand dismissively. “This is what I was trained for. Your wife? I think not.”  
Jackson and Abe appeared, having been cleaning away and burying the last of the debris from the surgeries.   
“Anything else you need help with, Doc?” Jackson asked, the younger man looking quite cheerful despite the grisly work they'd had to help with.   
“Thank you both for your assistance, it would not have gone so smoothly, or quickly if you hadn't been here to help out.”  
Abe shrugged his broad shoulders. “If those men survive, they will owe their lives to you, Doctor Morgan.”  
“Time will tell. Jamie said the cook had a pot of coffee on to brew and a meal for you, so I'll join you both later.” He watched the men leave, glad the two friends had been on hand. Things would have gone a lot worse if they'd not volunteered to fetch and carry as they had. He turned back to Nurse Marzan waiting patiently at his side.   
“Let's go and give those wounds a final check and see if anyone has woken up yet....”

Madame Tousignant visited the hospital tent that evening to check up on the state of the men. She was pleased to see some of them sitting up and taking food, albeit merely broth, but it was an encouraging sign. The maggots had done their job and been removed, the wounds they'd cleaned now stitched or packed and dressed, more likely now to heal without further problems. The last man to be worked on was also conscious and was taking nourishment for the first time in days. She had been informed that his wound had needed to be cauterized after the dead tissue had been removed by the doctor, now he had a chance of truly healing if the infection could be kept at bay. The turn around on the soldier's prospects was remarkable and she thanked God that Doctor Morgan had stumbled across their presence on the plateau. After spending time with each man, she went to talk to the man himself, who was resting on a camp bed just inside the hospital tent entrance.   
Chloe pulled over a folding chair and sat down.  
“You have performed a miracle here, Doctor Morgan.”  
“I did my job, Madame. With luck and careful nursing, the men should survive.”  
“We are in your debt. Just one question. When would you expect the men to be well enough to be moved?”  
Mitch stared up at her. “If you want them to survive, not for a week, bare minimum.”  
“I understand. Thank you.”   
They sat there in silence for several minutes, only the quiet murmur of Nurse Marzan talking to the soldiers and their low voiced replies, plus the ever-present buzz of insects outside the tent filled the void. Jamie appeared in the doorway, a large tray in her hands.  
“Oh. Chloe. Um...I've brought Mitch his dinner.”  
“I was just leaving. Goodnight.”  
Jamie waited for the Frenchwoman to leave before entering further and placing the tray on the floor. Mitch swung his legs off the cot and sat up.   
“I'm famished, what's on the menu tonight?” he asked.  
“Soup or stew depending on how thick it is. Some flatbread and coffee,” she told him, handing him the bowl and a spoon. He looked at the utensil and she laughed.  
“I washed them all thoroughly before the cook filled the bowl.”  
Mitch smiled back at her before taking his first spoonful. “Good. Hmmm, this is delicious.”  
“Antoine was a chef before he was called up to serve. He does what he can with what's available.”  
Mitch gave her a look. “You're becoming chummy with our captors?”  
She shrugged. “They've been very helpful. Antoine had one of the soldiers keep on refilling the pans with water and set them to boil. Ruben has been helping with the laundry, employing the soldiers not on duty to help hang out the bedding and feed the fire under the tub.”  
“You'll be glad to hit your pillow tonight,” he remarked when she yawned.  
“Got a spare bed?” she asked, looking around the tent.   
“Only for me and Nurse Marzan,” he saw her face fall and spoke again. “But I'm sure we can squeeze in another pallet for you.” Her sunny smile was his reward for his quick thinking. 

Dariela lifted the oil lantern to check on the men, the tent full of the sounds of people sleeping, snores, snuffles, groans and heavy sighs as the occupants of the cots moved restlessly under their covers. Each bed was shrouded in a mosquito net and she had to lift each one to check on her patients. She glanced back to where Doctor Morgan added his snores to the general noise, his wife curled up on a pallet at the foot of his cot. She noted that both were still fully dressed, the doctor even still wearing his glasses as he slept, as if prepared to leap into action with barely a pause to do more than open his eyes. Shadows flickered against the tent wall, the soldiers on watch walking passed the fires left burning all night, providing light for anyone moving between the tents. With the arrival of the Reiden Expedition, she felt a great deal safer, having another woman beside Madame Tousignant in camp and that woman, Jamie, being so obviously protected by her husband and others, it made Dariela feel protected as well. At first she had been happy to be seconded to the French Army to be their nurse aide to Doctor Anton, but when he was killed she had felt increasingly vulnerable, culminating in the attack by the Lieutenant who decided she was there to satisfy his baser needs, not just tend to the soldier's cuts and bruises. She had marked him, cutting open his cheek with her tiny blade, but sufficient to require stitches, a task she performed with a certain amount of satisfaction at his obvious pain. Then she was arrested for her defense of her person and clapped in chains, fortunately not for very long as the Reiden Party arrived soon after and her services were needed once more in a nursing capacity. Now she was determined that if the Doctor and his wife moved on or escaped the French, she would be going with them.   
A larger shadow loomed against the tent wall and she raised the lantern. A familiar dark face appeared around the corner of the doorway and she smiled.   
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, approaching the imposing figure carrying a coffee pot in one hand, a couple of mugs in the other.   
“I saw the lantern and thought you might need something to keep you going.” Abe proferred one of the mugs and she joined him in the doorway, leading him to a wooden bench set up along the outside of the canvas wall and sitting down.   
“You anticipated my every desire, Mr. Abraham...”  
“Please. Call me, Abe.”  
“Then you may call me, Dariela. We are friends, are we not?”  
Abe filled the mugs then put the pot down before lifting his mug to knock gently against hers.   
“Friends,” he confirmed as they both drank the dark brew, eyes meeting over the lip of the mugs. 

The next couple of days were spent looking after the wounded soldiers, checking the state of their injuries, changing dressings and taking care of their bodily needs. Lord Reiden, together with his agent and the other members of their expedition were given the run of the camp, but all their belongings and more importantly their weapons were under heavy guard, and without them and their supplies, leaving the French camp was not an option. There was also the threat of the invisible natives that surrounded them on all sides but were only visible when they had all their weapons pointed at you, as Gordon Black found out when he wandered too far beyond the camp boundary and came up against the tribesmen and their primitive, but effective arsenal.   
Lord Reiden chafed at the inactivity and the limits placed upon his men, meeting his match in Madame Chloe who answered his bluster with her cool French charm and no-nonsense attitude. She simply could not let his lordship go blundering about in the jungle, French Territorial jungle without a suitable escort, and given that her men needed the services of the good docteur for a few days yet, they simply couldn't leave. Reiden fumed and stomped off, railing at his agent and anyone who would listen about how totally wrong it was to have a woman in charge over him. He found no sympathy from the Frenchmen, half of whom were in love with the woman and the other half didn't fancy the life of a mutineer if they deposed her from her position of authority without appropriate grounds. Her authority meant she was the literal representative of France herself, as much as any governor general while on this mission of exploration. While she held that authority, she could order the Captain, his Lieutenants and all the soldiers under her command. So, Reiden fumed impotently and dreamt of the fantastical animals just waiting for him to shoot and have mounted in pride of place on his walls at home. 

The attacks started a week after the Reiden expedition was kidnapped and held hostage, albeit in a loose fashion, by the French Expeditionary forces camped on the plateau. Men were starting to go missing. Not only missing but taken from their tents at night right out of their beds with no one seeing or hearing a thing. Doctor Morgan had incorrectly counted the number of French, assuming that there were two men to a tent. In fact, there was more often only one man per tent, these lone soldiers spirited out and away without a single guard on watch being alerted to their plight. When it became clear something was happening, over ten men had vanished into the night, their tents largely undisturbed, no blood, no evidence of violence, just disarrayed bedding ripped nets and no soldier the next morning. The local tribesmen were questioned but they purported to know nothing about the missing Frenchmen, having their own problems to contend with. When asked what those problems were, they indicated that stock taken to graze more often than not came back missing animals with no explanation as to where they went or who took them. Again, the natives had found no bodies or carcasses left behind and no tracks to lead them to the missing stock. Evil demons were being blamed for the losses, the tribe starting to keep their stock nearer to home and more closely watched for evidence of the poaching and poacher.   
Chloe ordered the camp to be drawn into a tighter area, the empty tents dismantled and the night watch doubled. Everyone was on the lookout for any sign of what was happening to the missing men, a patrol organized to search a wider area around the camp for tracks or remains. Nothing was ever found and the talk of ghosts and spirits was whispered more often around the campfires by the nervous men.   
While all this was going on the men in the hospital tent were making a remarkable recovery from being so near to death, to now being ready to be moved. Madame Chloe suggested that the wounded be taken back to the nearest French outpost, a journey of another week by cart. The laundry cart was converted for this purpose, equipped with sufficient supplies, ammunition and weapons and an escort of half a dozen soldiers, plus the driver and an orderly to care for the men. The orderly had been working under Mitch and been taught what he'd need to know about changing dressings and watching for evidence of infection or festering, an unlikely event but it was always a possibility in the heat. Some of the local tribesmen would guide the bullock cart at least halfway to the outpost, then they were on their own. Madame Chloe sent a written despatch with them to update the Governor General on their situation, and Captain Édouard also sent a report of events and progress. The whole camp was there to bid them farewell, Jamie, and Dariela waving until the cart was out of sight among the trees.   
“Almost sorry to see them go...” Jamie murmured, turning away.   
“Almost?” Dariela queried.   
“Not really. I'm glad to give up my laundry duties, for one. My hands are ruined!” She held up her red-raw hands from the constant washing and handling of wet linen.   
“I have something that will help with that. Come with me.”  
Dariela went to her corner of the hospital tent and pulled open the drawer under the small table she used to write up the notes on the patients each day. She turned and presented Jamie with a round glass jar. “Rub this into the skin and they will soon return to a smoother texture.”  
Jamie held the jar up to her nose. “Hmmm...lavender...mint....and something else?”  
“Honey. It helps with the healing.”  
“It smells practically edible. Thank you.” Not wasting a minute, she scooped out a fingerful of the scented balm and started to massage it into her fingers and palm. When it was worked into the skin she lifted her hands up to her face and inhaled. “Just heavenly.”  
“Give it a couple of days and you'll see the difference, I guarantee it.”

“How much longer are we going to stay here and be picked off, one by one, I ask you?!” Lord Reiden was holding forth on his favorite subject. Apart from the patrols checking the perimeter, he had the attention of everyone else, French soldiers included. None of the Reiden Expeditionary group had been taken in the night, having chosen to bunk together, five to a tent, rather than have the luxury of a tent on their own. It meant they were squashed, but felt much safer and unlikely to have anyone taken without alerting the others. The soldiers followed suit, as did everyone. Mitch and Jamie shared a tent with Dariela, Jackson, and Abe, the women sleeping in the center of the space, while the men made beds around the perimeter of the circular tents. It was a crowded and noisy way to have the accommodations but both genders felt safer for doing so. With the loss of the wounded and their escort, plus the predations of men at night, the French force was being whittled down at an alarming rate. The original force, when the Reiden expedition arrived had numbered just under fifty, but now, with the current inexplicable losses, their force had been cut almost in half leaving only twenty-eight soldiers plus three senior officers and Madame Chloe. She and the senior officers were currently sharing a tent, a not entirely happy arrangement for those concerned, with the soldiers sleeping four to a tent for security. The night watch had been doubled and the shifts shortened, so that no one was anything less than fully alert and the camp patrolled with the guards in pairs. The local tribesmen were no longer so evident in the surrounding forest, more concerned with their own losses and security to be bothered with the crazy white men living on their land.  
Without the invisible guard dogs, certain members of the Reiden party started to make forays into the jungle to investigate the statue and what it represented – riches.  
The gem example given to the agent and sent on to Lord Reiden had been examined and determined to be a Blue Tourmaline or Indicolite of a high quality. Reiden had hoped it might be a blue diamond or pale sapphire, gems of greater value, but despite it's lesser value it was still valued for its coloration, a clear bluey-green that set it apart and much sought after by jewelers. The agent hadn't mined the gem himself but traded it from a tribesman who wore it as part of his multitude of beaded necklaces, the unpolished gem held in a web of cords like a pendant. The native had drawn the rough map to indicate where it came from, forming the basis of the map they were now following. The huge statue was one of the main markers the native had drawn to indicate the location of where he had 'found' the stone, the agent noting everything he said.  
Now they had seen the stature for themselves and knew they were close to the source, so it was suggested that maybe one or two could brave the jungle and investigate the statue and what lay beyond.  
With the French soldiers on such high alert, it proved a challenge to gather the most basic of supplies for the three men going, to attempt to leave, and investigate the statue. For the first time, Reiden didn't let his friend, Mitch Morgan, in on what was being planned. He felt the doctor had been compromised by his association with the French and more likely to be missed by Madame Tousignant than any of his party. So it was that three men slipped away to explore further back on the trail, unmolested by the local tribesmen and free to investigate what lay behind the towering statue. 

“I will ask you again, Lord Reiden. Where are your men?” Madame Chloe turned to face the arrogant aristocrat, her hands behind her back, her chin raised. The last head count that morning had revealed the missing members of the expedition had been gone for several hours at least.   
Reiden pressed his lips tighter together behind his beard and forebore to comment. Chloe cursed under her breath. “Then you leave me no choice....” she started to say but was cut off by a commotion at the edge of the camp. Her soldiers turned their guns on the men running full pelt through the tents, Captain Édouard shouting for them to hold their fire while the men stumbled through the picket line and fell at the feet of their employer. There were only two of them. 

Madame Chloe paced back and forth as the doctor checked the men and dressed their numerous scratches and cuts. Apart from the soldiers on watch, the whole camp was gathered around Reiden's servants, waiting to find out what had happened to them. They had been searched and several chunks of stone found in their pockets, now laying on a table top. Once the men were pronounced fit by Mitch, Madame Tousignant stepped forward.   
“Where have you been?” she asked. After glancing at their employer, they started to speak.   
“Lord Reiden wanted us to check out the statue. We had been told the statue was the gateway to a diamond mine.” He paused when Chloe gave a derisive snort, but she gestured for them to continue.  
“We went back down the trail to where the giant statue was and went beyond it into the jungle.”  
“What did you find?” Lord Reiden asked, leaning forward despite the guns still pointing at him.   
The man turned towards him and continued. “We saw a trail and followed it, it quickly led us to an opening in a rock wall. It was all carved like the statue, with pictures of birds and stuff.” The man paused.   
“Go on,” Reiden coaxed. “What else did you see?”  
This time the second man took up the tale. “There was other statues inside the entrance, similar to the bloody great big one, but it was easy going and we had the lantern, so we went inside.” He stopped, giving a shudder and closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he turned to the French Captain. “We found your Frenchy soldiers.”  
“My men? Why didn't they come back with you?” the captain asked.  
“They were dead. We saw some dark water, or what we thought was water trickling down the walls. It was blood and when we looked up....” the man closed his eyes at the remembered horror.  
“There was bodies, all of them stripped and cut open, like pigs at a butcher, hanging from hooks hammered into the walls....” the second man explained grimly, the first man retching dryly, the horror too fresh and ghastly for him to cope with.   
“Where is your third man?” Reiden asked, looking at both men.  
“Me and Stan, we just ran straight out of there, dropped the lantern and took off. Jim just stood there, staring up at the bodies. Far as I know he's still there...” the man dropped his head onto his chest, breathing heavily. “Gawd it was awful, the smell and that buzzing...”  
“Did you see any evidence of animals in the cave?” Mitch asked, revolted by the scene they described. “If the bodies were hung up on hooks, who put them there and put them up on the hooks?”  
Both men looked at him. “Never saw a thing, no sound or movement. I ain't a tracker like those young fellers, I wasn't looking for tracks or nothing. We saw the lamplight being reflected on stuff in the rocks, sparkling like, and we found those chunks among a small rock fall on the floor. But apart from that, there was nothing, no sign of any animals.” The man looked confused as if hearing his own words and how incongruous they sounded. “The floor of the entrance looked like it had been swept clean. There were no boot prints, I'm sure. We would have seen those.” Both men looked at each other, confusion evident on their faces.   
“Did you hear anything on your approach to the cave?” Mitch suggested, trying to get the men to think past their initial reaction to the shock of the discovery. “Try to think if you heard anything.”  
One of the men looked up at the doctor. “The birds were silent. As soon as we pushed past the greenery hiding the statue the birds stopped their chatter.”  
The men all around started to talk amongst themselves, chewing over what they'd heard. Abraham had been quietly translating for the natives still with them, the men now discussing the situation between one another, the same as the others.   
“The place is cursed,” one soldier uttered, his voice gaining strength. The French soldiers around him started to nod their heads.   
“Ever since your people arrived we have been plagued, you brought bad luck with you!”  
The talk and chatter grew louder as fear started to take over and the men, French and English gave vent to their anger. One of the lieutenants suddenly pointed an accusatory finger at where Dariela stood with Jamie.  
“It is all that witch's fault. She put a curse on us, you all heard her, she cursed us!” His voice had risen in pitch and strength as he warmed to his audience. “She put a spell on me, lured me in then yelled rape when I had hardly touched her. She is a demon!”  
Dariela shrank back, Abe stepping in front of her, blocking her with the bulk of his body. Mitch pushed Jamie behind him and Jackson protected their flank.   
“You all need to calm down,” Chloe's voice rose over the babble of voices, but was shouted down, her authority evaporating in the face of the group's hysteria. Captain Édouard did nothing to protect her as one of the soldiers pushed the blond woman roughly, shouting at her to shut up. Jackson stepped forward and pulled her behind him, backing towards where Mitch and Abe stood. Reiden had also sidled towards where the doctor and guides stood, protecting the women.   
“This is madness,” he muttered in an aside to Mitch. “We need to get the women out of here.”  
“Agreed. Let's get them out of sight for starters, maybe that will diffuse some of their anger.” Mitch turned and ushered the women away, Jamie and Dariela grasping hold of Chloe's arms to hustle the shocked woman to the tent they shared, the men shielding their retreat, Haruni joining the protective line along with the rest of the Boma porters, keeping the French soldiers back from the tent. 

Chloe sat on one of the cots and stared blindly at the floor, completely blindsided by the soldiers and men turning against her in the blink of an eye, her authority ignored and her gender a point of contention.   
“They called me a witch,” she muttered softly, first in French then in English. Jamie gave her a sympathetic look, but Dariela just glared at her. Chloe saw the look and tilted her chin up.  
“Why do you look at me like that?”  
“Did you really believe that the men enjoyed having a woman ordering them about? Are you so blind that you didn't hear the muttering, or see the looks they cast at you?” Dariela fired at her, Chloe looking taken aback.   
“I have the authority of the Governor General...” she started to protest but Dariela cut her off.  
“A bit of paper that means nothing!”  
Jamie decided to speak up before it came to blows. “Mitch will protect us, and Jackson, and Abe. They won't let anything happen to us.” Her calm voice broke through the anger simmering between both women, drawing their attention to her.   
“They are unarmed. How will they stop the soldiers when they turn their guns on them?” Dariela asked.   
“We have to hope that common sense will prevail plus out of sight is out of mind. I'm sure the men have a plan, we just have to wait and hope, for now.”  
Chloe was now more angry than shocked at her senior officer's betrayal. “How dare he throw me to the rabble, the cur. I'll have him broken in rank when I return...” she stopped, their current situation suddenly dawning on her. “He'll make sure I don't return, he can't let me live!” Her voice rose as the true realization of her position sunk in. Jamie approached the French woman and tried to calm her.   
“We have to trust that Mitch and the others will have a way to get us out of this. We can't give in to panic or despair, we just can't.” Jamie glanced over at Dariela who nodded in agreement.   
“Jamie is right. We can't give in to despair. We are strong, we have the men, we will get through this.”  
They sat together and listened to the voices rising and falling outside the tent, Mitch dismissing the use of the term witch and trying to calm the voices still shouting, Jackson and Abe also adding their weight to keeping a lid on any suggestion the women were to blame for events in the past or happening right now. At length, the voices all died away and the women sat waiting for the next move.   
Mitch appeared suddenly through the tent flap, Jamie jumping up and flying into his arms, the pair hugging for a long moment before separating, Mitch giving her a quick kiss before facing the other two women.  
“I'm afraid you'll all have to stay out of sight if we're to have any hope of keeping a lid on this,” he told them. “Things have calmed down a little, but I have no idea how long the truce will hold.”  
“How can they call us witches?” Chloe demanded, getting to her feet.   
“Given their greater numbers, they can call you whatever they like. We have to try and get our weapons and smuggle you out of camp. We'll do what we can to get our supplies, but we might have to leave in a hurry, so don't take off your boots. Even better, I suggest you sleep while you can. If we leave here, we'll need to cover as much ground as possible to get far beyond their reach.”  
“We understand,” Jamie answered for the others. “Is Lord Reiden with us?”  
“Yes. He's as shocked at his men as anyone. Cyrus seems to have become their spokesman and he's trying to push for you all to be...” he stopped, biting off his words. “Never mind. Haruni and his porters are forming a guard around the tent, so no one will get in, but you can't leave either, not even for the most basic reason. I'll get you a bucket to use...”  
Jamie winced but smiled up at him. “We've managed with worse. Just...” she didn't finish, not wanting to voice her fears for him. Mitch smiled at her encouragingly.  
“Rest and don't lose hope. We'll get out of here as soon as we can.”

The day dragged, the women resting as Mitch suggested, preparing themselves physically and mentally for what was to come. Beyond the tent walls, things seemed to be quiet, only hearing the low murmurings of the porters as they talked amongst themselves, the air inside the tent becoming hot and stuffy as the hours ticked by.   
Jamie dozed on one of the cots, the other two women doing the same. The light inside the tent was fading before anyone appeared again, this time it was Abe, the big man moving stealthily as he shook the women awake and held a finger to his lips to keep them silent. When he had their attention he went to the back of the tent and drew out a large knife, slicing open the canvas wall like it was butter. He went first through the gap, indicating for them to follow, then, once they were outside he led the three women through the tents until they reached the picket line, then continued walking as rapidly as possible through the trampled grass, all the time half expecting a shout to go up from the guards on patrol. The shout never came and they reached the safety of the treeline without incident. It was dusk and the light turning soft and indistinct. Abe motioned for them to crouch down and make themselves comfortable, they would wait now for the others to join them before going further. Fires were being started in the camp, sending flickering light between the closely huddled tents, their distance from the French soldiers not far enough for Jamie's liking. None of them had spoken since Abe's arrival, but Jamie could see that Chloe was almost bursting to demand answers as to what was going on. Instead, the Frenchwoman kept her lips pressed together and trusted that Abe, and the others, knew what they were doing. Soon, to their surprise, ragged singing started to come from the camp, the light from the leaping flames blocked as bodies passed in front, long shadows dancing back and forth against the tent walls.  
“It has worked,” Abe breathed softly, smiling to himself.   
“What has worked?” Chloe asked, unable to stop herself but keeping her voice low.   
“The distraction. We need to move now, follow me.” Abe got up and led his charges on a circular route at a distance from the camp, but heading towards the edge of the jungle, back towards where they'd been first captured by Chloe and her tame tribesmen. None of the women questioned the direction, only tried their best to keep up with Abe's long stride without a light to warn them of uneven ground of unseen obstacles. After half an hour Abe stopped again, letting the women rest while remaining hidden among the thick greenery.   
“Are we anywhere near the statue?” Jamie asked, having lost all sense of direction, only that they were heading in the general direction opposite to where the sun set.   
“We are beyond that. We wait for the others to catch up now.”

They had to wait a further two hours before Abe stood up, his dark eyes intent on the greenery around them. It was full dark but all of them had adjusted to the night and could see with the help of the bright stars overhead in the clear sky.   
“Someone is coming. Don't make a sound,” Abe whispered, crouching down again. They listened and it was clear people were approaching near to where they hid. A voice quietly called the group of people to a halt and Jamie thought it might be Jackson's voice. As if conjuring him from the air, he was suddenly beside them.   
“Rafiki!” Abe glad cry, albeit muted, was all they needed to hear. Soon all the party of escapees were standing in the same space, Jamie finding herself once more in Mitch's comfortable embrace.  
“We need to get moving,” Lord Reiden's gruff voice said. “We are still too close to the camp for my comfort.”  
In the darkness, lightened only by the glowing stars overhead, the small party of men and porters crept away from the French camp, making sure and certain progress so that when morning came they were clear of the jungle and heading out over a barren landscape, the cool of the night quickly dissipating as the sun rose higher into the morning sky. Having walked all night, everyone was exhausted, the men more so as they hadn't had the luxury of rest the day before. Now they were all looking for somewhere to rest. 

Jamie lifted her head and stared out at the rock-strewn plain they seemed to be crossing and licked her parched lips. There didn't appear to be anything resembling shelter, in fact, nothing much bigger than a small boulder in all directions. Dropping her gaze she plodded on, the heat bouncing back off the black rocks adding to the general discomfort of everyone. Suddenly she bumped into Mitch, who had stopped.   
“What?” she asked, looking up. Mitch turned to look at her.  
“Chin up, sweetheart, Abe might have found something.”  
Soon they were walking forward again, but this time with a lighter step. Abe was waving them over to a depression in the landscape, not much on the scale of things, but as they drew closer it became clear that the depression was more of a hidden canyon, sinking down into the desert from a steep incline like a ramp just wide enough for two to walk side by side. With the sun still relatively low in the sky, the sides of the canyon provided deep shade, a welcome coolness after the heat above.   
“How is this here?” Dariela asked, looking up at the sharply cut walls.  
“Probably created by water,” Mitch explained, reaching out a hand to touch the surprisingly smooth colored rock surface. Above was all sun-bleached sand and black rocks. Below, the earth was a rich red and orange with streaks of white and yellow creating a beautiful rainbow of water carved curves.   
“Aren't we in danger if it rains?” Jamie asked as they walked deeper and deeper into the slot canyon. “I mean, if this was created by water, where did it come from?”  
“Flash flooding from higher up, I imagine,” Jackson answered her. “This sort of formation is not uncommon in wetter deserts where they get a lot of flash flooding from the surrounding hills.”  
Jamie looked at Mitch. “So? Danger?”  
“Look. It's widening and the sides are not so steep. If we are unlucky enough to get caught in a flash flood, we'll just stand up there out of the way.”  
Jamie frowned at him, not convinced he wasn't just fobbing her off. It was true that the canyon, while still in deep shadow, was starting to widen, their path taking them along one side and out of the direct sunlight. The canyon continued to widen and started to produce side slots, straight alleyways cut into the rock, some only short, others longer, more evidence of the power of water on the softer substrate. Jamie was about to speak up that she could barely put one more foot in front of the other when a shout went up from the front. They had finally found shelter. 

The weary travelers entered the wide mouth of the cave with some trepidation. They stood among the ruins of an ancient civilization of high plateau dwellers, their mud-brick houses built into the side of the canyon wall, far beyond the reach of the sun and well above any flood waters below. The buildings were, as to be expected, mostly in ruins and tumble down, but enough survived to provide shelter for the tired trekkers. Finally able to stop, they took stock of their supplies and distributed what they had left in the way of water and food among everyone, before finding places to lay down and rest. They were all too tired to nominate anyone to keep watch, trusting in the lack of tracks and evidence of man or beast in recent times to be their safeguard while they slept.   
Jamie slept with her head comfortably cushioned on Mitch's shoulder, the steady thump of his heart beating under her cheek, their packs acting as his pillow. The ground was dusty and hard, but she was too exhausted to care, just glad they had escaped and she was once more safe in her husband's arms. When she next awoke, the others were stirring as well, talking softly among themselves in deference to those still sleeping.   
“Hey,” Mitch's voice rumbled through his chest, acknowledging that she was awake at last.   
“Thank you,” she replied.  
“What for?”  
“For being a most comfortable pillow. Best I've ever had.”  
“You're welcome...anytime,” he replied, grinning. They had slept for several hours and now the canyon walls provided cool shade once more, the collection of broken buildings in deep shadow. There was little enough of food and water to eke out, the need to resupply obvious to everyone. The group were all awake now and talk turned to their next move. It was acknowledged they were well beyond the reach of the French soldiers, but now further from the edge of the plateau and quite off the map they'd brought with them. It was presumed, given the desert conditions, that they were now in the dead heart of the plateau where rain hardly reached and the only moisture was when rain caused a flash flood to pour through the canyon. That begged the question of why anyone would build permanent buildings if there was no reliable water source. Also, why the need to hide in such an invisible location, what were they hiding from? With nothing but the mute remains, they had little to base a hypothesis on as to what had happened to the small population or how long ago. For that matter, the plateau was proving both an ecological puzzle as well as a historical one, not to mention the strange and dangerous creatures that roamed its heights. The one thing that was clearly evident was that they couldn't stay in the canyon unless they found a water source, and soon. With the sun dipping in the sky, they packed up and started to trek further into the canyon itself, ignoring the frequent branches in the hopes they would find a way up the steep sides or a slope like the one they'd entered by. As they walked, the sides of the canyon walls rose higher and higher until the sky was a mere strip of pale blue far above their heads. If it hadn't been so wide, it could almost have felt claustrophobic, a thought that Jamie considered as she walked, the ground smooth and sandy under her boots. Hours later and it was dusk, the fading sun providing just enough light to show them that they'd reached the end of the deep crevice, the u-shaped crack in the earth ending abruptly at a sheer drop-off at possibly the highest point of the plateau.  
“It must make a spectacular waterfall when it floods,” Jackson observed, speaking what everyone thought. The edges of the rocks were worn smooth from the gallons of water that over millennia had cascaded over the edge, only the faintest of light on the horizon indicating where the land ended and the sky began, the distance and angle allowing them to calculate how high they were.   
Most of the group stayed well back from the edge, Jamie being one of them, feeling dizzy just thinking of how far down the ground was, with no easy zigzag path to follow down to the jungle below. For them, it was a dead end, and still no sign of a water source. It would seem they had gambled on the canyon ending in a way to bring them back to the surface above, instead it had ended in a spectacular fashion that boded ill for the expedition. They couldn't go forward or down, so they had to go back. Now they would have to explore the side slots to see if one would lead them back to the surface. Given how tired, hungry and thirsty they all were, it was a daunting prospect.


	10. Underground

Chapter Ten - Underground

“They're practically on our doorstep, father.”  
“If that is the case, we have no choice.”  
“We could let them die?”  
“Child, that is beneath you. We are not murderers!”  
“They will not understand your work here, none of them is intelligent enough.”  
“You do them an injustice. There are several in their party who could understand my work here, even possibly be a help in furthering our projects.”  
“You think any of those....men will remotely understand the purpose or reason behind what we've done? I think you are a fool to risk it.”  
“Daughter, daughter you are impetuous and young, I understand. Not all men, or women, are so shortsighted or so blind. We have been too long isolated from civilization, from society. We could both benefit from some company, and there are several women in the party...”  
“So? I have no use of girlish fripperies, I have all the accomplishments I could possibly want.”  
“Again, you are young and have not the foresight to see the benefits. If they are at our front door, we, in all hospitality needs must welcome them in.”  
“Sometimes, there is no arguing with you, father.”

They were traversing a promising gully, the sun sinking inexorably below the lip of the canyon, plunging them into a semi-gloom presaging the night. The ground they tramped across showed evidence of recent water, but no amount of digging produced more than damp sand, so they carried on in the hopes of finding a spring or source of the dampness. In the dusk they didn't notice the rising mist or interpret it as anything sinister until the first man fell, then those around him in quick succession, no one able to move fast enough to avoid inhaling the narcotic gas being pumped into the air, bodies falling where they stood until the gully was littered with sleeping victims. As traps went it never failed.

Jamie awoke with a dry mouth and pounding headache. The last thing she remembered was a sickly sweet odor and a faint mist, then her world turned black until now. She was on a camp bed so she sat up and looked around, squinting while her eyes adjusted to the light. Everywhere seemed very bright and she shielded her eyes to better see around the room. On either side of her were other beds, all of them empty, but all showing evidence that someone had been in them recently. Swinging her legs to the side she looked down to find her boots but they were missing, including her socks. Barefoot, she stood up and surveyed the room. Apart from the furniture, there was little to inspect other than rock walls and no windows. It suggested the room was underground, further proof to support that idea when she looked up at the light source, surprised to see an electric light with cords running along the ceiling to the doorway. There was no sign of a door.  
Approaching the opening, she checked both directions of the corridor that stretched to left and right. The lights carried on at regular intervals with more doorways visible from where she stood. She listened and heard a distant murmur of voices that seemed to come from her left. The tunnel was a comfortable height and she headed towards the sound of voices rising and falling, slightly amplified, bouncing off the rock walls.

“This is monstrous! An outrage!” Lord Reiden shouted, his face pink with anger.   
“It is neither of these things, m'lord. They are just the rules,” a male voice of reason answered. “Would you be so churlish as to take my hospitality and expect no strings?”  
Jamie entered the doorway and looked around the room, searching for Mitch. A girl, with long wavy dark hair and wearing spectacles, carrying a tray, paused in front of her.   
“You look like you could use a drink?”  
Jamie had to swallow before she could speak. “Please.” She took the proffered mug, holding it in both hands while she swallowed down the contents as quickly as possible.   
“Woah, slow down, you'll bring it all back!” the girl admonished.  
“God, that is so good. Can I have another?” Jamie asked, already reaching for another mug. The girl nodded and Jamie took a second portion of water, this time sipping it, rolling the fluid around her mouth and just savoring how cool and sweet it was. “Thank you, I so needed that.”  
“It was lucky Abendegos found you and brought you to us. Another night with no supplies and your chances would have been slim to none.”  
“Abendegos?” Jamie asked, seeing a look come over the girls face, almost maternal.   
“Dear Abendegos, he is a tower of strength, I don't know what we'd do without him. He brought you all down here after he found you.”  
“Then we owe him our lives. Where is he so we can thank him?” Jamie asked in all innocence.  
The girl smiled broadly, dark eye sparkling behind her glasses. “So you shall. But not now, he's resting.” She looked over her shoulder. “I must attend my father.”  
Jamie watched the strange girl sashay away towards the knot of men on the other side of the room. She saw Mitch and raised her hand, but he didn't raise his head from the discussion he was having with a grey-haired man, both of them totally engrossed in their argument to the exclusion of everyone else, despite having a circle of others around them listening in.   
“Men! Get them on their hobby horse and they forget everything.”  
Jamie turned to find both Chloe and Dariela at her side. “Who is he?”  
“He's Professor Robert Oz, would you believe?” Dariela told her, nodding when Jamie raised her eyebrows and instantly looked over to where Jackson stood beside his friend, Abe. “And yes, they are related, apparently.”  
“He is Jackson's father,” Chloe spoke up. “He went missing when Jackson was a boy. He hasn't seen the man in years.”  
“He doesn't look very happy to have found him again?” Jamie observed, noting Jackson's sour expression. “And what about his sister?”  
“Half sister. Same father, different mothers,” Dariela explained.   
“Oh. So a double shock for him. Poor Jackson.”  
The three women watched and listened to the men and their heated discussion, until Mitch threw his hands up and turned away, his face thunderous. He marched up to where Jamie stood and grabbed her hand, swinging her around.  
“We're getting out of this lunatic asylum!”  
“Hey, wait...what?”  
Jamie found herself towed behind Mitch towards the doorway, everyone staring after them in shock at the sudden turn of events.   
“You can't leave, Doctor Morgan...” Professor Oz called after him, Mitch ignoring him and plowing on toward the door. A roar from somewhere outside the room halted him, Jamie clutching at his arm to steady herself after the sudden stop. The roar came again, this time followed by the appearance of the girl, Jackson's sister from the hallway, a smile stretching her generous lips wide.  
“Leaving already, doctor? And you've barely sampled our hospitality, how rude. I believe the woman wanted to thank Abedegos for rescuing her...” She stepped to the side and a huge, ape-like creature filled the doorway completely. It might have started life as a great ape, but it now far exceeded those limitations in sheer size alone, the body heavily muscled with long arms, barrel chest, nearly hairless and the mouth sporting a pair of wicked looking tusks along with pointed incisors. Dark, intelligent eyes fixed on the girl, who flicked her hand indicating Mitch and Jamie. The beast instantly turned its attention on the pair intending to leave, Mitch hurriedly pushing Jamie behind him as the ape advanced into the room, intent on the people at his feet. Mitch held out a hand as if to hold the animal back, but Abendegos took it as an aggressive gesture and bared his impressive teeth, roaring at Mitch and Jamie, who cowed behind him.   
Everyone else in the room was similarly driven back to the walls, unable to escape as the beast blocked the doorway, only Professor Oz looked anything other than scared to death of the creature.  
“Abigail, for goodness sake, get your pet under control, you are scaring everyone!”  
“Good. I hope they are scared, they should be. They don't appreciate just what we've done for them!”  
“Abigail, daughter, they don't know the facts and need time...”  
“They need a lesson, father. A lesson you are too weak to administer. Abendigos?” Abigail called softly to the creature, who turned its massive head to regard her, noting her hand gesture, then turned back to its prey. With a flick of its hand, it swept Mitch to the side, knocking him to the floor, stunning him with the force. Jamie screamed at the sudden violence and made to move to where Mitch lay but she was stopped by a hand gripping the back of her neck, rendering her immobile, forced to her knees, her hands scrabbling uselessly at the giant hand holding her easily. Some of the men moved and Abigail wagged a finger at them.   
“No heroics, gentlemen or this woman gets her neck snapped like that.” She snapped her fingers, the sound loud in the quiet of the room. Jamie's eyes were wide and fearful, swinging over to where Jackson and Abe stood impotently. As far as she could she shook her head to tell them not to do anything foolish, tears of pain from the grip of the ape's hand on her head and nape trickling down her face.   
Mitch was recovering from being thrown across the room, getting to his feet and moving towards where Jamie knelt helplessly.  
“For God's sake, let her go...” he pleaded, Jamie closing her eyes as the ape pressed harder, squeezing her neck and head in a vice. She felt dizzy and faint, her head pounding under the pressure, her breathing erratic.  
“Remember this lesson, Doctor Morgan. No one leaves without my express permission, is that understood?” Abigail ordered. Mitch didn't take his eyes off Jamie, just nodded his head in agreement. “Let her go, my pet...” Abigail said sweetly, the ape turning his head to regard her, at the same time releasing his plaything, Jamie slumping senseless to the floor, Mitch catching her just before she hit the unyielding stone.   
Abigail looked around at the people staring back at her and smiled. Casually, she walked out of the room, Abendegos in her wake, moving silently despite his size and weight.   
With the ape gone, Dariela rushed forward, closely followed by Jackson and Abe.  
“Is she alright?” Abe asked.  
Mitch was trying to rouse Jamie, supporting her head and tapping her cheek. “Wake up, sweetheart, come on open your eyes...”  
Professor Oz approached and his son turned to face him, eyes blazing. “What the bloody hell have you been doing all these years? Did you create that...that thing? Why have you been hiding here? Did you ever once...just once consider the effect your leaving had on me? On my Mother?”  
“I'll answer all your questions, son, but I think we need to get this young lady somewhere she can be taken care of. Doctor Morgan, I'm so sorry....”  
Mitch ignored the man, lifting Jamie in his arms. “I need to care for my wife if you'll excuse me...”

Dariela and Abe stood in the corner of the room and talked.   
“You've known Jackson for years, how is he taking all this?” she asked.  
Abe glanced around before speaking. “Jackson is not happy. His memories of his father are not the best, what with the man supposedly disappearing during an expedition to South America nearly twenty years ago, his body never found but all accounts suggesting he'd been the victim of a tribal conflict.”  
“Obviously not,” Dariela scoffed. Abe grimaced.   
“And not on his own. Somehow he now has a grown daughter, a sister who has had all Robert Oz's attention when his son thought him dead.”  
“Not exactly a happy family reunion.”  
“Not at all.”  
“Where exactly are we, have you or Jackson figured it out?” she asked.  
Abe looked pained. “Like you, it is obvious to us were are in some sort of underground installation, a mine maybe...”  
“But the electric lights? The fresh air? We can't be that far under the surface, can't we escape?”  
Abe grimaced. “And go where? Our situation up there...” he indicated with his finger. “Was not good. We had no food, no water and no prospect of getting out of that canyon system.”  
“But they have water and food here...” Dariela reminded him.  
“True. They also have Abedegos. Big as I am, I wouldn't want to take that beast on.”  
“So we're prisoners until they choose to let us go...”  
Abe reached for her hand, giving is a gentle squeeze. “We do what all prisoners have ever done. We watch, we learn and we wait for the opportunity to escape.”  
Dariela sighed, her dark eyes looking into his. “I'm glad I'm a prisoner with you.”  
Abe smiled, his eyes twinkling. “As I am to be here with you.”

Lord Reiden passed the couple on his way to pace the room, his thoughts unsettled. He had overheard Professor Oz speaking to Doctor Morgan about the veterinarian joining the team of scientists apparently producing the range of strange and dangerous creatures, some of whom they'd already encountered on the surface of the plateau and seen up close, like Abendegos. Morgan had argued with the professor over the ethics of what he was doing, of the effects the creatures could have if let loose into the wider world, on the native flora and fauna, let alone the people that lived in the immediate area, given the animal's hostile natures. The professor had argued back that it was all in the name of scientific exploration, stretching the boundaries of accepted knowledge and advancing the discoveries of genetic manipulation, a completely unexplored frontier. Morgan had been incensed and made his feelings crystal clear, but that was before encountering the giant ape and having his wife threatened. The doctor might sing a different tune now the cards were on the table. Reiden looked around the room and wondered where the darkies had been herded off too. Haruni and the chief's son, Kaseko had exchanged only a handful of words with the black guide before leaving for quarters elsewhere, leaving Reiden with the remaining mainly white contingent of the expedition, including Gordon, Jackson, Abe, Morgan, and the three women. With the daughter and her giant pet gone, plus Morgan and his wife no longer present, the room was largely empty. The Frenchwoman, Chloe, stood with her arms around her waist, obviously shaken by events. Reiden approached and attempted to put her at her ease.   
“Bit of a rum situation, eh what?”  
“As you say, monsieur, not the best of circumstances.”  
“I suppose we can be glad we, at last, have water to drink and shelter, that's something?”  
Chloe looked up, her expression wry. “You have a saying, I believe. Out of the frying pan...”  
“Into the fire. Yes, I suppose that is apt, considering.”  
“Your expedition hasn't quite turned out the way you expected, Lord Reiden.”  
He chuckled. “That, young lady, is the understatement of the century if I might say so. I expected to have a peaceful big game hunt, bag some trophies, find some treasure to justify the expense and head on home in time for Christmas.”  
Chloe let out a soft chuckle. “I guess we will both be disappointed.”  
Reiden smiled, then his expression sobered. “What are you going to do now, if you don't mind me asking?”  
She shrugged. “I have lost control of my command, I am a disgrace to my rank. I will have to return, somehow, to the office of the Governor General and face my punishment. I imagine I will be returned to France in disgrace, there to be dismissed without honor.”  
Reiden patted her knee in sympathy. “Pretty woman like you won't be sitting on the shelf for long, m'dear. You'll be snapped up by some lucky young man and soon forget about all this unpleasantness once you have a baby or two to dandle on your lap.”  
For a moment Chloe stared at his lordship in outright disbelief, then decided it wasn't worth the argument. She cast the incorrigible aristocrat a rueful look. “Before any of that can happen we need to find our way out of here and back to civilization.”  
“Too right, m'dear. Couldn't agree more.”

For the second time that day Jamie awoke to a pounding headache, this one made worse by the pain radiating out from her neck and shoulders. She groaned, loudly.  
“Take it easy sweetheart, don't try to sit up.”  
She opened her eyes to find Mitch sitting on the floor at the side of her cot, his brown eyes swimming with concern, his brow creased in worry.   
“What hit me?” she asked, knowing full well but hardly believing her own memories.  
“A rather large and aggressive trained ape called Abedegos, a pet of the daughter, Abigail.”  
Jamie groaned again. “Feels like he broke my neck...”  
Mitch grimaced. “If he'd done that, my love, you'd be dead. There's bruising and it will be sore for a while, but you'll live.”  
“Remind me to keep out of the wretched creatures way in future....ouch.”  
He brushed the hair off her forehead, noting how much longer it was now. In fact, it was long enough to cover her whole head, curling at the ends. He felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't been able to protect her from this latest brutality.  
“I'm sorry...”  
Jamie cracked open an eye and frowned up at him. “If I remember rightly, you'd been thrown across the room, so I don't know what you have to be sorry for.”  
He gave her back a small smile. “Maybe I'm sorry I ever allowed you to come on this benighted expedition. Nothing but hurt has come of it...”  
“You didn't allow me, Mitch, I chose to hide away in the hold, so stop feeling guilty and give me something to make this godawful headache go away.”  
“I don't have access to my medications, I'm sorry...”  
Jamie groaned and shut her eyes. “Nothing at all?”  
Mitch frowned and turned his head away. Maybe that was a way to win himself back into their confidence and get his hands back on his various unguents and remedies. “Don't get up or move. I'll be back as soon as possible. Rest that neck, understand?”  
“Yes, doctor.”  
He bent down and kissed her. “Love you. Don't move.” Then he got up and left the room. Jamie opened her eyes a few moments later to find she wasn't alone. Her heart started to pound and her fingers clutch at the edge of the bed. The giant ape, Abendegos, was squatting on the ground just inside the room, his black eyes fixed on her. When he saw her eyes open and looking at him, he hooted softly, as if to apologize for his rough treatment of earlier. Jamie could only stare at him, rigid with fear, even her throat had closed up making it impossible to speak let alone scream for help. Taking her silence for encouragement, the ape-like creature shambled forward, reaching out a long arm to let one finger touch the bed. Jamie drew her legs up but it didn't stop Abendegos reaching out and wrapping a finger around one ankle to draw it back down the end of the bed. It became a tug-of-war, Jamie trying vainly to pull away, the ape pulling her further down the bed. If she hadn't already been in a great deal of pain from the beast's former handling she would have found the situation amusing, but to have the huge hulking brute, capable of snapping her like a twig, looming over her, only made her wish she had Reiden's large elephant gun so she could shoot the abomination and make it leave her alone. 

Mitch searched the rooms for the daughter, Abigail. It was obvious the young woman held sway over her father, so it was to her he needed to plead for his bags to be returned. He found her in a side room that, at first, made him halt in the doorway to take it all in. She stood among an impressively set up laboratory, one he'd never seen the like of before. There was a vast array of different testing equipment, elaborate looking examination tools, intricate creations in glass made out of beakers and coils, burners and all manner of scientific glassware to separate and refine, evaporate and condense.   
“Doctor Morgan? Or can I call you Mitch?” The girl's dulcet tones, almost playful, jolted him out of his admiration and focused his attention on her.  
“Miss Abigail...um...can I say that I have never seen such a remarkably equipped laboratory.”  
Abigail smiled and put down what she was working on to face him. She wore a large apron over her dress but now started to remove it.   
“It is rather impressive if I say so myself. It has been built up over many years, and I think I can say that there is very little that we can't do or create with what we have to work with.”  
A huge blackboard had been set up to the side and Mitch went over to stare at the equations and formula written in white chalk in a flowing hand.  
“Your work?” he asked. Abigail nodded.   
“Thank you for the compliment, Mitch.”  
He turned to look at her, somewhat blankly. Abigail laughed.   
“You asked me if it was my work, which it is. Most would assume it was my father's work.”  
“The penmanship was a large clue,” he explained. “But it was the nature of the formula, the style that you've used. This hasn't been learned in the traditional style, it is...creative and quite distinctive.”  
“Again, a compliment. Are you a botanist or chemist yourself?”  
Mitch was still studying the blackboard. “Nowhere close to this in either subject. I can more readily tell you what something died of or what caused that death in the way of environmental factors than devise a new element or break down a compound like you have here.” He pointed to a particular equation and Abigail drew closer.   
“Yes. That one is of my own particular design. Amazing that you are intelligent enough to recognize it for its uniqueness. I think you do yourself a disservice, Mitch. You're smarter than you look.”  
Mitch turned his head to look at her, surprised to find her so close beside him. She was staring intently into his face, her eyes large and dark, thickly fringed behind their round lenses. She was an attractive girl but he felt no ripple of attraction towards her, in fact, her manner made his recoil, as if from a snake. He couldn't say what made him feel that way, but he was old enough to trust his own feelings. He pulled back a little and laughed.   
“Now, I think you just gave me a backward compliment, but I'll take it.” He turned away from the blackboard. “I was wanting to ask if I could have my bags returned. They contain my doctoring equipment and medicines.”  
“Why would you need those?” Abigail asked, still savoring his flattering attention.  
“My wife, Jamie, is in need of pain medication after her....rough handling.”  
As if having a bucket of ice water poured over her, Abigail stopped smiling and glared at him.   
“Your wife?”  
“Jamie is my wife,” Mitch told her, noting the reaction from the girl. “Her neck is very painful and I wanted to get her something to help. Can I have my bags?”  
Abigail turned to leave but Mitch shot out a hand to restrain her. “Please, Abigail.”  
She looked down at his hand and he slowly released her.   
“I will give you back your bags, Mitch if you promise me to return here and look at more of our work. I'd be pleased to show you what we've been working on.”  
Mitch saw the ploy for what it was but didn't react. If the girl wanted to be flattered and simper at him, he'd let her if it meant he got the medications to Jamie. “I'd be happy to see what you and your father have achieved. I admit my scientific curiosity has been well and truly whetted.” He gave her his warmest smile, the effect on Abigail all he could have wanted. She instantly smiled back, all scowls and frowns forgotten.  
“I so look forward to that. Let's go and get your bags, then you can return to me all the sooner.”  
Mitch followed her out of the laboratory, uneasy at the girl's lightning change of temper and mercurial emotions. He would be treading a difficult path and he only hoped Jamie would understand. 

Abendegos lifted his head as if hearing or smelling something. He abruptly let go of Jamie and shambled from the room leaving his new toy to lay exhausted on the cot. The creature hadn't done more than investigate, tugging on her leg, her arm, stroking her hair, even tasting it at one stage, but it had all been unnerving and Jamie felt overwhelmed.  
Mitch appeared in the doorway clutching his bags and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was about to tell him of Abedegos' visit but his manner was agitated and he was frowning ferociously.   
“What's up?”  
Mitch started to mutter something then stopped, looking up and clearing his face of any serious expression. “Nothing.” He looked around the room and spotted a jug and glass sitting on a tray at the end of the room. “Ah, just what I need. Back in a tick.”  
Jamie stared after him, well aware of what he'd just done. Obviously, something was bothering him, but it could be any number of things and she wasn't up to playing twenty questions. He returned with the glass, moving it with his hand to make it swirl and mix up whatever he'd put in it for her.  
“Here. Drink this. You'll feel a lot more comfortable once this takes the edge off.”  
Jamie drank the glass of water, unable to stop the small grimace from the taste.   
“Thank you. Did you have any problem getting your gear?”  
“Um...”  
“Mitch?”  
“Look. The daughter, Abigail, wants me to work with her and look over her father's work...”  
Jamie noticed how his eyes wouldn't meet hers. “Does she know you're married?” she asked, arching one brow.  
“The thing is I had to flatter her a little, make her think...” Mitch stumbled to a halt again.  
“To get the medicines? That's okay, Mitch. You do what you have to do.”  
Mitch turned to look at her. “You understand?”  
“I understand that girl has designs on my husband, probably more for his brains than his body, but if you can use that to get us out of here with supplies and our lives intact, I'll turn a blind eye.”  
Mitch grinned down at his urchin wife. “What did I do to deserve you?”  
“When I figure it out, I'll let you know,” she retorted smiling up at him fondly. He kissed her.  
The sound of someone clearing their throat drew them apart moment later.   
“Sorry. I thought I'd come and see how Jamie is doing?” Dariela asked.   
Mitch got up. “You can sit with her. I've just given her a dose that will ease the pain, but most likely make her a little sleepy.”  
Jamie was about to protest that she didn't need a sitter, then remembered the Ape and its games and changed her mind. “I'd be glad of the company, Dariela.”  
The nurse looked up at Mitch. “Any idea how long we're going to be held prisoners here?”  
Mitch cast a quick glance at Jamie. “I'm going to find out right now. Soon as I have any idea, I'll let everyone know.” Leaving his bags tucked under Jamie's bed, he left the room.  
Dariela looked at her patient, one eyebrow raised. “Was it something I said?”  
Jamie smiled. “He's gone to chummy up to the daughter. Apparently, she has something of a crush on him so he's going to use that to his advantage.”  
Dariela gave a mock shudder. “That girl is a horror story. I wouldn't want my husband anywhere near her.”  
Jamie laughed softly. “She does have an odd choice in pets, but I feel sorry for her. Shut up down here with only her father and that ape for company? It would send the sanest person loopy after a while.”  
Dariela looked up at the roof of their room. “I wonder how they did all this? It's so isolated out here. Where are the workers? Is there really only the two of them?”  
“And Abedegos,” Jamie added. “Maybe they paid off the workers when the construction was done.”  
“And no one thought to mention about the mad professor and his weird daughter living underground on the plateau making fantastical creatures all these years?” Dariela folded her arms over her chest. “All seems a bit fishy if you ask me.”  
“I wonder how long they have been here? Imagine growing up in these passageways.”  
“Now you're feeling sorry for her? She set her pet on you!”  
Jamie lay silent for a moment, the drug Mitch had given her soaking the pain away and leaving her relaxed and her thoughts floating like clouds. She yawned and Dariela clicked into nurse mode.   
“You need to let that medicine do its thing. Try to sleep. I won't leave you alone.”  
“Thank you,” Jamie slurred, her eyes closing.

Mitch entered the laboratory with a high level of caution. To his relief, there was no sign of the daughter only the father, Professor Robert Oz, standing at one of the benches, wrapped in a white overcoat and lifting up a test tube to check its contents.   
“Professor?”  
“Doctor Morgan, what a pleasure. I hope we are able to put the unpleasantness of the past behind us?”  
Mitch worked hard to keep his expression neutral. “The patient is resting comfortably, which frees me up to explore what you and your lovely daughter have been doing?” Just because Abigail wasn't in the room, didn't mean she wasn't observing or listening in.  
“Come in, m'boy. I know we argued earlier, but that is the meat of scientific discovery, to have an opinion challenged and other ideas put forward. Look at this for example...” He waved Mitch over to look at the contents of the test tube. “On the surface, a simple bacteria but look at it now under a microscope...” Professor Oz used a pipette to extract a tiny sample and prepared a slide, checking what he could see through the eyepiece before waving Mitch to do the same.   
Mitch took off his glasses and peered into the scope, adjusting the focus to bring the sample into sharp relief.  
“Good, God. That's not possible!” he exclaimed. Mitch pulled back from the equipment to stare at the Professor. “This is like no bacteria I've ever seen.”  
“It is a relatively new field...” the professor murmured.  
Mitch carried on excitedly. “I was lucky enough to attend a lecture by Ferdinand Cohn, he was invited by the Bureau of Science, hosted by the National Geographic Society. It was a worldwide coup as the man was loathe to leave Berlin and had to be coaxed to go on a speaking tour. I've read some of his papers, he's quite brilliant in the field of bacteria.”  
“I too saw the great man himself, even studied under him for a short time. I copied the design of the microscope he used to make the one you see here.” Robert Oz indicated his gleaming brass scope with pride.   
“Why are you out here?” Mitch asked. “Why are you not among the literati, working with the great scientific minds of our century?”  
Robert Oz looked downcast as he related his history. “I proposed a theory, backed up by observation and study, but it was rejected, worse it made me the laughing stock of the university. I had to leave. I am not proud to say I did not handle the situation well and vowed to show them all that my theory was proof positive. I lost my tenure and took myself off to find a backer who would see the brilliance in what I had theorized. I found a backer, although he is not aware of it, and all you see here is a result of the last few years endeavor. I gave up my life, my wife and child, and withdrew to here to pursue both his goals and mine. Mine took precedence, some of the results of my...dabbling, I believe you have come across already.”  
“Abedegos?”  
“That is my daughter's creation, not mine. No, I speak of my magnificent ground eagles and the rhino hybrid you encountered in the ruins, I believe.”  
Mitch stared at the man, wondering if he was staring madness in the face. “You created those...monsters?”  
The professor blustered. “I'd hardly call them monsters....”  
“They killed our men, almost killed us...” Mitch had to rein in his temper, reminding himself that alienating the professor would do their cause no good. “We were not prepared for them,” he said in a more moderate voice. “How is it they haven't strayed off the plateau in all this time?”  
The professor was regarding his visitor with a shrewd eye. “I think we've seen enough for today. Why don't we go and have something to eat. I'm sure all of your party are ready to drop from hunger and I've been a tardy host. Come this way, Doctor Morgan and let us feed the body, as well as the mind.”

The dining room was big and surprisingly had a window set into the rock wall at the far end. There were numerous chairs around the long table but everyone who entered was drawn to the view beyond the glass set into small metal frames.  
“Good gracious,” Gordon Black exclaimed, voicing what everyone else was thinking. They already knew that they were at the high end of the plateau from reaching the end of the canyon, but the spectacular view beyond the window confirmed where the underground dwelling was situated, apparently further along the same high cliff as the canyon. A rock protrusion above the window shaded it from the sun that hovered overhead, illuminating the land far below.  
“We only had to expand a little from the caves that were already here,” Professor Oz explained to his guests crowded around the window. “That hole in the wall just begged to be glazed and is quite a showpiece.”  
Lord Reiden turned back to quiz their host. “So you didn't mine these tunnels yourself?”  
“Good lord, no. We were going to build in the canyon, but our surveyor literally tripped over the ruins of a lost city further to the north. He found a map scraped into a wall and it showed this creation of connected tunnels, a worked out mine we suppose. On investigating it, we decided it was admirably suitable for our needs and moved in. Obviously, we had to civilize it a little to make it livable, but the results are as you see, quite comfortable now.”  
The professor sat down at the table, at its head, Lord Reiden joining him on his right, while the photographer sat on his left. Mitch sat next to the photographer while Chloe sat next to Lord Reiden, with Jackson beside her. Abe sat beside Mitch. The table was already set with places for everyone plus three extra for the three women not currently attending. Glass carafe's of water stood in front of everyone, with crystal glasses set by each place. Mitch reached over and filled his glass, swirling the clear water around and raising the glass.   
“You have a water source, and yet everything above the canyon is desert. How is that possible?”  
Professor Oz smiled. “They couldn't have created this mine without a way to water the workers. There is a cavern deep below that holds an aquifer which feeds a well dug through the rock. It is quite an engineering feat.”  
Lord Reiden indicated the furniture and table settings. “You brought all this with you?”  
The professor laughed. “It was quite an extraordinary caravan that carried all our supplies to this isolated outpost. Most were shipped by canoe up river then carried by porters to the crevasse, from there it was transported by camel to the canyon before being lowered down the walls and brought into the tunnels.”  
“Camels?” Abe asked. “I have seen no camels or camel tracks?”  
“That's because we ate them.” The professor stated.   
“What is this crevasse you speak about?” Mitch asked.  
“Please, please there will be plenty of time for answers to your questions. Let us eat.” He pressed a button set into the table edge and a few seconds later Haruni and his fellow porters appeared carrying platters and bowls, plates and trays. In the bustle that followed, Dariela and Jamie appeared and took their seats further down the table. Jamie looked tired but managed to return Mitch's smile across the table from where she sat next to Jackson. Mitch changed places with Dariela so she could sit next to Abe, placing him nearly opposite his wife. He was about to ask her how she was when Abigail entered the room and paused to press a kiss to her father's head before moving towards the seat next to Mitch and directly across from Jamie. Compared to the rest of their guests, Abigail looked fresh and dust free, her dress different from the one she'd worn earlier and rather obviously worn to impress, her hair also dressed as if for a formal occasion.   
“You look lovely, daughter? I'm sure our guest appreciate the efforts you've gone to, this meal smells wonderful.”  
“Thank you, father.” She turned to face Mitch on her left. “Do you appreciate me?” she asked.  
Mitch didn't falter and promptly smiled. “You are a delight, Miss Abigail.”  
His words drew surprised looks from his friends around the table, but Jamie didn't react and ignored the byplay, knowing the reason behind it. She turned to speak to Haruni when the man placed a plate in front of her and held out a tray of food which she spooned onto her dish.   
Abigail glanced over at Jamie to see if her flirting was having an effect but frowned when it was obvious the woman wasn't looking at her husband or her but concentrating on her meal instead. Spoiled of her fun, she turned away from Mitch and waited to be served.  
It was somewhat surreal to be sitting in a stone-walled dining room with a window that looked out onto a world miles below, eating food prepared and served by their former porters while still wearing their travel-stained clothes and being virtual prisoners. Jamie mused on this while ignoring the girl flirting outrageously with her husband mere feet away across the table. The food was good and plentiful, the water clear and cool, but for all that, Jamie felt fear slither down her spine, always aware that somewhere in the tunnels and rooms, Abendegos lurked ready to pounce and start toying with her once more. She looked up and caught Mitch's eye briefly, his look conveying his love to her before Abigail pulled his attention away again. Jamie gritted her teeth and sat back from her plate, full for the time being. Her gaze was inexorably drawn to the window and its expansive view, making her feel like a caged bird, able to look but not escape from behind the glass.   
Later they were all granted access to hot water and a crude bathing room in which to wash their clothes and themselves, able to get clean for the first time since waking up into a new nightmare. Jamie, Dariela, and Chloe were chivalrously given the first opportunity to use the room, given back their packs after they'd been searched for weapons. The women stripped behind a screen, then sluiced themselves, using bowls of water from the buckets, no actual bath available. They rinsed out their clothes, toweled themselves dry and donned their relatively clean if creased, spare clothes hurriedly packed at the French camp. They had shared the slivers of soap Jamie carried and now shared a hairbrush between them before bundling up their damp clothing and leaving the room, one of the few with a door for privacy. One of the former porters collected the wet clothes and took them to be dried while the women retired to the bunk room to await the men's return. Jamie's short locks dried quickly while Dariela and Chloe had to brush our their long hair and plait it, to keep it out of the way and tidy. Eventually, the men returned, all but Mitch.  
“He...er...um...Miss Abigail called him to one side,” Jackson told Jamie in an aside, obviously embarrassed to have to relay such a message. “He said not to wait up for him.”  
Jamie took the news without fuss and nodded, thanking Jackson for letting her know. Everyone else pretended not to know what he said, some of them wondering why Mitch was behaving the way he was, others having an inkling and preferring to keep their thoughts to themselves.   
Someone produced a pack of cards and quickly formed a four to play a round of simple games to occupy them. Jamie rubbed at her neck and decided to rest, the sound of her friends sending her off into a light doze, her worries concerning Mitch kept solely behind closed lips. She only hoped that he found a way for them all to escape before too much more time passed. There was, after all, only so much she could put up with before enough became very definitely enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologise for the late and somewhat shorter post. Real life butted in and hijacked stuff for a while. Hopefully, things are back on track now and this saga will be completed soon. Thank you for your patience and perseverance.


End file.
